People who are psychologically involved with the pain and suffering of others – not only of those in their immediate circles but of complete strangers as well – are not a foreign phenomenon to me. I am one of them. To the extent that some may define my involvement as an exaggerated level of compassion. Any news on lives destroyed in carnage of the innocent during peacetime prompts in me the need to mourn  (the reality of war deserves an entirely different discussion). The sorrow I feel over untamed and indiscriminate onslaughts on humanity at large encumbers my tolerance to face the daily arena of mundane struggles. I then resort to writing poems.

Acts of horrific human-to-human decimation have been everything but rare all around us this year alone, with too many of those vicious brutalities having secured their lifetime blood supply in hatred (as opposed to greed, personal or political ambitions and psychological disorders). Hatred is also the subject matter of my verse below. While my “1” has not materialized by cause of the most recent atrocities in numerous parts of the world, its focus is – as devastating a reality as it may be – as up-to-date as it has been since the beginning of humanity. 

a child is born

from the nature’s womb at its rawest
onto the new snow of virgin scents

in victorious roars
world’s notorious beast robs it aside
before the tender cells begin to self-abide

hatred is molded

© hülya n. yılmaz, October 12, 2015

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

From: An Aegean Breeze of Peace. Demetrios Trifiatis and hülya n. yılmaz. Inner Child Press, Ltd. October 12, 2015.


Filed under Reflections

4 responses to ““1”

  1. I need not elaborate in detail to affirm that I mirror your every thought and feeling, that of which you so describe in your “1” prefix to that beautiful though sadly heartrending life poem!


    • At times, I convince myself that my writing will somehow sometime matter, that it can have an impact on those many of us who seem to accept this barbaric madness all around us as a routine fact of life. Words, then, fail me. Once again, you have my gratitude, dear friend for always listening with your unique understanding of my attempts but especially for sharing your insightful eloquence.


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