Category Archives: Poetry

“Where Are You Now?”

41_hikmet_hires-flat

[Nâzım Hikmet ~ Free Online Image]

i miss the untainted i inside you
you caressed my birth
into your bosom
i laid down my many beloveds
my mother’s unforgettable touch
my father’s sacrificial feel
my uncles’ pain-soothing embraces
my granddaddy’s gentlest laughter
my Yasemin’s exceptional beauty
are for me no more
you have taken them all
for my brother
whom i utterly adore
i live no more

you have changed from the core

so many famed traversed through your terrains
they left their bountiful legacy with you
i now understand as to why
Nâzım Hikmet would cry
in his prison cell for too long of a while
even your enviable age-old landscape
of his countless sleepless nights’ saving grace
is recognizable no more

you have changed from the core

today
i feel
as if
i grew up
in a fairy tale

“Once upon a time”
you were to me
a mesmerizing spell
everything in between
had also its magical charm
“And they lived happily ever after”
however
oh my sweet Turkey
has been nothing but a pathetic lie

in your case . . .

i cannot help but still be
after a desperate chase
to honor my memories of you
al
though

you have changed from the core

© hülya n. yılmaz, 10.13.2018

 

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“a secret life story”

a secret life story

seriously?

it’s impossible for our live-records to stay unknown
even long after our skeletons’ offspring has outgrown
their offspring’s sketches donning the ruins of the land
there will always be a soul to give our grim tale a hand

has it not been so throughout the timeline of humanity
when will we begin to see this nightmare in full clarity
what more does it take to note the accomplished wrongs
why vow to look faraway while they parade in throngs

seriously?

what kind of a delete-button did in your testimonies
you surely had some rational and trustworthy cronies
it cannot be that so little of you has been left behind
or was prenatally the multitude of your bands twined

you were after all the inhabitants of Southwest-U.S.A.
also of Mexico in its North and synchronized i daresay
what you achieved between 10,000 and 40,000 years
some of us would submit to just to forsake our sad tears

© hülya n. yılmaz, May 14, 2018

[Published by Inner Child Press International in the June issue of the fifth volume of The Year of the Poet]

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“nomads”

so, very little is known about your lives
is the professional claim in our times
the so-called “modern-day” jest
won’t be as stingy about us i suspect
we surely must self-glorify in retrospect

i don’t doubt what’s said about you today
when i look at our conditions in dismay
the continent you were “among the first”
to inhabitate is yelped to be the only greatest
just when i darn the nth rave then comes the latest

your surviving ancestors may 9,000 years later
discover or make for this laughing stock a grater
for it direly needs the ultimate fine-tuning of all times
our predicament should after all not stay as a secret
maybe they can distill this pickle oh so terribly acrid

you were a wandering and gathering lot i heard
we on the other hand are an incessantly scattering herd
you clothed yourselves with the skin of your hunt
and eaten plants to stay alive while we go the other way
we are the meals and nature are soon to meet its d-day

© hülya n. yılmaz, May 14, 2018

[Published by Inner Child Press International in the June issue of the fifth volume of The Year of the Poet]

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“inventions, discoveries and donations”

inventions

too many of us are offended
become demoralized and uneasy
when we are reminded of “the other”
of “its” masteries, in particular
while we keep on indulging
in “its” stellar gifts to “the self”

dissatisfaction

impatience
dejection

blame the aware few . . .

why stir up history
as it was written
as it is taught
for “the self”
by “the self”

why pull the brakes ever
of our speeding time-shuttle
to acknowledge “the other” at last
with “its” long-overdue recognition
contemplating thus our own human blood

God forbid!

if we so did . . .

we then might realize
for a passing moment at least
how abundantly the “self” benefited
for centuries not for a mere several years
from “the other” and “its” still-shedding labor-tears . . .

discoveries

our lives would not have been the same
had the “other” not invented or discovered
nor had left intact for the misuse by “the self”
“its” surname bleeding still
taken from “its” sweat and blood
together with all else that to this day does remain

donations

un-written . . .

yes

the subject is Sumerians
of Ancient Mesopotamia
“the cradle of civilization”

how often do we come across
the oft-cited term to belong
to a lobbying cultural entity
as if it were for it to own

no surprises there!

another always seems to bear
the highest octave to raise
so it gets the praise
our history books bear witness

yet those writes
suffer from a mono-lithic lens
thus we reserve the honor
for one or the other
as long as it is not

by no means!

“the other”

furthermore

we cheer from the sidelines
turning into a music buff of some sort

though we know
deep down we know

blame the aware few . . .

why alter a make-belief
a working bed-time story
with all its esteemed fake glory

the invention of
Agriculture
intact with its Plow
and System of Irrigation
the Wheel
the Chariot
the Sailboat
the System of Time
the Concept of Astrology
as well as that of Astronomy
the Map
Mathematics
Urbanization
the Cuneiform
the First Form of Writing

yes

the First Form of Writing

but . . .

our history books
continue to claim
Nay! Oh, nay!
The Sumerians?
Of Ancient Mesopotamia?
The Cradle of Civilization?
Nay!
No way!

. . .

feel free to fill in the blanks
with names that are yet to make the ranks
out of the abyss of intentional omission
for their past and present donation
after all should that not be our mission

unless of course we seek our due commission

blame the aware few . . .

© hülya n. yılmaz, April 18, 2018

[Published by Inner Child Press International in the May issue of the fifth volume of The Year of the Poet]

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“Indian People Are Still Here”

“Indian people are still here,”
Otis Halfmoon of the Nez Percѐ tribe maintains
and adds: “We are not going away. It is time that
The newcomers to this country started paying
Proper respect to the elder status of the first nations.”

Chief Joseph: “Every animal knows more than you do. White men have too many chiefs. Learn how to talk, Then learn how to teach.”

a nation whose population
marked its intent to live in peace
yet was forced to dress in war-wear
for the U.S. government
began to shoo it away
way down below
onto reservations

in the words of the reservation doctor
he died of a broken heart
his countless appeals
to federal authorities
had after all
failed

“I am tired of fighting . . . from where
The sun now stands. I will fight no more”,
uttered by In-mut-too-yah-lat-lat,
“Thunder coming up over the land from the water”,
Or, “Chief Joseph” as he now is known to us,
the still proudly ignorant populace
that erodes more of his land
night by each dark night
day by each darker day

let us recall the times when we have died . . .
a death by a broken heart

© hülya n. yılmaz, March 18, 2018

[Published by Inner Child Press International in the April issue of the fifth volume of The Year of the Poet]

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“Nimi’ipuu”

the French
named them “Pierced Nose”
the ignorant
happened to find it befitting
such a limiting tag
the signaled practice however
is known not to have been wide-spread at all
othering the other “Self”
what’s new?

rivers have understood them
the lower Snake River
the Clearwater
the Salmon
as have streams and high plateaus
but also nature’s other gifts of abundance
berries roots a wide range of game
to which they would ask for forgiveness
for having had to kill for survival
while the French and non-French alike
continued their Nez Percѐ-butchery
among other acts of carnage
to pierce noses . . .
perhaps

horses were discovered in the 18th century
by this warlike-growing North American tribe
to its peoples alone does the gift of breeding belong
of the largest horse herds in the continent that is
including the distinctively colored Appaloosa
a most popular breed in today’s U.S.A.

looking at them with robotic eyes . . .
one should not neglect an add-on to this tale
what was (or may be still) their linguistic grouping?
we had better not forget our manners!
encyclopedias deliver detailed data on “Sahaptin”
even add this tongue is also called
Shahaptin and Sahaptian

imagine

if only we had this insight before
we would have . . .

© hülya n. yılmaz, March 15, 2018

[Published by Inner Child Press International in the April issue of the fifth volume of The Year of the Poet]

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“what else is left to do?”

what else is left to do
but to bow in highest respect
before the pens of a power
that overrules the brutality of the
segregationist
colonialist
chauvinist
ethnicist
sexist
racist
surpassing time and space
as only the unwavering ink can do

now is the only time
and here, the only place
where we must and shall
unconditionally embrace
for one loss from our unity in diversity
is a cause for an irreversible tragedy
that will appoint us with no delay
to the expiry of our humanity

© hülya n. yılmaz, February 18, 2018

[Published by Inner Child Press International in the March issue of the fifth volume of The Year of the Poet]

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