Category Archives: Impulses

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If photographs were story-tellers . . .

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In awe . . . incapable of articulating all the marvels my spirit has been dancing with . . .

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breathing in . . .

For this Wednesday’s “Impulses”, I am sharing you with you, dear reader, one of the most captivating sights I have been inhaling since my arrival at the Pyramids View Hotel on the Giza Plateau in Egypt . . .

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[Photo Credit: Self]

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. . .

aren’t you afraid to go to those places?*

must i fear to live?
no, you say,
and even add: of course not!

why, then, should i deprive myself
from experiencing a loving embrace
in countries that enchant me
by people so beautiful inside and out
who despite my lack of their tongue
encircle me
accept me
show their desire
to understand me
unconditionally

was i afraid to journey here?
of course not! no!
whatever for?
love is here for all

© hülya n. yılmaz, August 8, 2018

[*This poem draft is an actual account of my experience back in the States. A pure-hearted dear one had asked me this question when I told her/him about my travel plans for the summer this year. As soon as s/he heard my destinations -Jordan, Palestine, Morocco, Tunisia, Macedonia and Kosovo, the above-quoted question popped up. The rest is . . . history, repeating itself: The fear of the unknown. May you live only love-filled, i.e. fearless days!]

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[Photo Credit: Self]

A tiny part of one of the gorgeous terrace sections at the home of our gracious host and hostess in Amman, Jordan ~ Everything they have been offering us solely for our enjoyment has been worth an exceptional poem . . . hopefully, upcoming . . .

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One Day Later . . . from Amman

To connect to the Internet has been somewhat of a challenge here, in Amman, where I am deliriously enjoying an incredible stay for about a month. So, my Wednesday post comes to you belated, dear reader. Bear with me not only as far as this delay but also when the content is concerned, as I am re-visiting a poem I have shared with you before. There is a difference this time, however, and that is where else I have presented this piece of my poetry: At the Jarash Festival of Culture and Arts in Jordan. In the future, I hope to write much more about my wonder-filled experiences in this gorgeous world region. For the time being, I will suffice to let you in on a secret only: My reading of the poem below on two different occasions has met a gracious acceptance, for which I was and continue to be most thankful. I have had the privilege to recite my poem first in Al-Karak, Jordan for The Jarash Festival of Culture and Arts and then, in Amman for the Orthodox Club. While I read “routines” in English, Nizar Sartawi, our incredible host in Amman, has in his beautiful voice read it in Arabic. Mr. Sartawi, educator, is a prolific poet in English and Arabic and a prominent literary translator. With this post, I am extending my heartfelt thanks not only to dearest Nizar but also to his graceful wife, Zulfa, both of who embraced us as their family in their gorgeous home in Amman. An eternal shout of “Sukran” to you, dearest Zulfa! An eternal “Sukran” to you, dearest Nizar! 

routines

i wake up to just another day
and am soon on my way to work
a school bus waits at the curbside
its hugs, ready for the bubbly children
a parent or a grandparent is always there
seeing their babies off to their safe returns

i think back and reminisce in peace
about my own child’s schooling ease . . .

children get born also
in other parts of our world of course!
children are cherished also
in other parts of our world of course!
children are loved also
in other parts of our world of course!

some struggle to stay alive
some can only try to struggle
death finds them when too young

though it does not routinely arrive
with the intent of a personal kill
they are often left behind
without a caring guardian

for the rest of their butchered lives
they await their pre-determined fate

the notoriously grim reaper has for long
been contracted by psychopaths after all
from in- as well as outside their nations of birth

in those dispensable long-forgotten geographies
a school bus might succeed in a lucky appearance
in “neutral” zones or at a “no dispute-border” for instance
as a rare sight for sure
a notable source of pride
but only until the moment
its door begins to open wide
either to gulp down tiny corpses
or to spit them out bone by bone

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, August 2, 2017

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[Photo Credit: William S. Peters Sr.]

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