“My loneliness is filled with people,” Kafka states.
Loneliness once:
Nighttimes –the worst, amid winter darkness
Days end in haste, day-ends prolong like childhood’s gummy sweets
in the hands of street vendors, looking unkempt, unwashed
lips not even touching the mom-water cup,
yet, devouring in full trust those stretchy rainbow-colored sugar treats
loneliness now:
Filled with sounds of indecipherable joy
two person bed in the morning, two person bed at night
Quiet at nighttime but witness to a commotion at dawn
the family of birds, greeting each new day, in non-stop frenzy
housed in my bedroom’s right corner window crevice,
frantic back and forth wing-clapping
chirping
twitching
beak-to-wall-knocking
fighting off intruders
how many birds were victims to slings of childhood’s neighborhood boys,
wood and ribbon killers of baby aviators
on their way to flying classes
loneliness now:
Filled with sounds of indecipherable joy
hülyaswritings 