Category Archives: Poetry

not a strong gust . . .

not a strong gust
but a set of tender breezes it was
that started to shake the leaves one by one

change was in the air
nothing to prevent, nothing to prepare for
like artificial breathing and then . . . no longer
trying to catch a gasp of air along the way,
in the midst of a blindingly dense fog,
attempting to see clearly once again
that which now belonged only
to the soon-to-be-forgotten past

each left for its own path,
struggling still to stick together
for a little while more
until none was the same as before

© hülya n. yılmaz, June 21, 2019

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not here . . .

hearing the fireworks at Niagara Falls
thinking of war zones overcasting the globe
bombs, grenades, exterminated lives, blood,
much blood, unimaginable pain and utter fear

seeing is believing, says this language root
yet soul’s eyes pierce the empirical
sees through and through
meets it all eye to eye
and takes it all in
loud and clear

there is so much suffering in open sight
that the mind freezes up,
crawls back to its womb
the heart is helpless
in its despair
and woes

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, June 7, 2019

 

 

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“cries”

IMG_20190308_111512_772.jpgi hear cries
the cries of children
i cannot see them but i know
those hefty tears are there to stay
frozen in mid-air, frozen in helplessness
in hopelessness and in utter fiery despair
for we grown ups have chosen to be quiet
yet once again, numb, deaf and delusional

so delusional that we wake up

every single day

to the comfort and convenience

of our petty lives

lives so petty that we insist

to insist on and on

not to care, not to think,

not to sense, not to feel

all along dismissing

what stirs up deep inside

our consciousness,

our gut instincts,

our compassion,

our original purpose: to love,

to love them all

“why?” asks one of those icons of innocence
“what have I done to deserve this fate?”

not in words, as not all know

how to speak yet

their eyes say it all,

eyes filled with salty drops

instead of tummy-giggles,
instead of daily, nightly jumps of joy,
instead of cushioned care-free slumbers,
instead of the tender safety

of love’s embrace

“why?”
why are there so many cries?

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, May 30, 2019

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soul hurts . . .

sex trafficking, say the sources
if not, hunger and thirst,
painful, bruise-filled sleeps on concrete floors
no plush toys to comfort them
not that any one could give back
what their mothers and fathers always have

yes, children are gone,
thousands have disappeared into thin air

supposedly . . .

yes, innocence has been robbed
never to return
even if some of those most precious would . . .

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, May 19, 2019L

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“where have all the children gone”

where have all the children gone . . .

harvesting the “lost” children’s organs,
drinking their blood from fancy cocktails,
robbing the lifeline of the still-developing pure
to abet their miserable thirst for longevity
for their waste-filled useless frames
the rich and powerful are for long on their way,
covering the innocence with the darkest hue of red,
bludgeoning thousands of little ones
who are still unaccounted for . . .

immigrants?
“let’s get rid of them!”

how was the US built in the first place . . .

only the brain-dead are being readily fed
make-believe stories, over-flooded with lies

if they did at some point in their lives at all,
the perpetrators are no longer capable to possess
a trait that remotely resembles one of the humane
so, they devour their stolen feast and move on . . .

in the meantime,
thinking hearts are in pain,
for the lives of all those children
have been proven to be in vain once again

it seems, there is nothing that can be done
where have all the children gone . . .

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, May 1st, 2019

 

Related Readings:

https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/us-politics/trump-border-children-immigrants-number-families-separate-us-mexico-a8407111.html https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/06/us/family-separation-trump-administration.html https://www.nytimes.com/2018/09/18/us/politics/us-migrant-children-whereabouts-.html

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her tears

in the still of the night,
amid complete strangers in uniform
keeping her away from her Mommy,
she is crying shriek wails
her face, trauma-distorted
in its meant-to-be beautiful glow

a mere 2-year-old child

innocence lost
purity, no more

a cold-blooded picture
speaks on her behalf

language . . .

what is it good for
when pain is inflicted
on purity, on the core love
between a mother and her baby?

losing it . . .

the tongue and all

the heart aches yet once again
and hurts on and on and on

where has compassion gone?

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 4.14.2019

*This poem came to me while I was reading the news about the 2-year old unnamed girl whose trauma has been captured in a moment after her forced separation from her parents at a US border. Her plight’s visual caption has apparently granted the photographer “a prestigious World Press Photo of the Year” recognition . . .

Border Patrol Agents Detain Migrants Near US-Mexico Border

[Photo Credit: PBS News Hour]

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“Mother Tongue”

Mother tongue . . .
Last night, I remembered Mom.

Not the first time. Oh no!
She lives in me, you see.
She has never left.
Nor has my Dad, my father-like older uncle,
My younger uncle,
Or my sister-like cousin,
All hearts of gold,
Unchipped, raw.

Last night welcomed me
In my mother tongue
To a setting that felt like home . . .
Again.
It had been too long of a while
When I last visited her . . .

A surprise guest made her entrance.
Homesickness, she said, is my name.
I knew her too well from decades ago.
She and I hit it off right from the first go.
Again.
We reminisced. She too had missed me.
Where was I all these years, she wanted to know.
Life, I replied, holding back my bittersweet tears.
What brought you to me today, she asked.

Mother tongue . . .

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 3.2.2019

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