An old poem . . .
Like an Eagle
İstanbul dons a large number of majestic forts.
Those structures from many ancient histories
May today not appear as powerful anymore,
But the debris alone suffice to astound
the willing eye through a mere peek
at the hauntingly mighty Bosphorus,
in sync with the influential breaths
that many civilizations of the past
have generously left in it to last.
I haven’t been there
in too long of a while;
in an empirical sense, that is.
Frequent visits
of my fertile imagination
have otherwise sated
my hunger and thirst.
My longing for the dead
who were left behind
and all my cravings
for the impeccable times
have been re-lived, time and again,
in harmony,
amid the scents of a caring love
ever so painstakingly.
I borrowed an eagle’s eye
on this special day,
then perched atop a bastion
and began to sway.
Palaces, tea houses, trolleys, Bazaars,
cafés, fishermen,
rare carpet – Kilim and antiquities-selling ambitious shops,
yachts, stately mosques,
the famed Dolmabahçe Sarai,
freighters, speed-boats, Hovercrafts,
scenic jogging paths
do not interest me in the least . . .
The eagle’s eye is a loan
for a refined delicacy.
I refuse to waste it for the mundane.
On the bottom of the Bosphorus,
all of a sudden,
underneath a recent undercurrent,
oh, so sullen!
Amid sea grass . . .
I spotted my brass keychain
of four distinctive keys.
On it, my elephant carried on.
I towed it heroically.
Its movable, pretty trunk
waved at me ecstatically.
I guided us all
to the astonishing Sinopian coasts,
to my breathtakingly serene flat-sanctuary . . .
But, I found, to my demise,
it no longer was there.
Only then, did i recall my dream
of last year,
on the night of the 2nd month’s 14th,
and . . .
my loaner eye wept.
hülyaswritings 