aren’t you afraid to go to those places?
must i fear life?
no, you say?
why, then, should i deprive myself
from experiencing a loving embrace
in countries that enchant countless others
with their people utterly beautiful, inside and out
who despite my lack of their tongue
show their desire
to understand me
was i afraid to journey there?
of course not! no!
love, after all, is
and will forever be
here for us and with us all!
(c) hülya n. yılmaz
From my latest book, this and that
Background: Before embarking on a 2-month-long trip abroad, I was asked the question that serves as the title of my poem here. My travels were known to include various countries in the Middle East. Stigmas accompanied some dear people who seemed concerned about my safety / well-being in those places.
To order, please go to my Inner Child Press-link at hülya n. yılmaz or the Amazon-link at hülya n. yılmaz
a plea to us all
oh, my beloved humanity
take down all the walls of collective shame
we need love’s glow alone at our being’s core
deep within our souls’ all-embracing precious frame
right at this very moment, and henceforth, through eternity
(c) hülya n. yılmaz, December 28, 2018
*I had submitted this poem as one of the five to be featured at the 2019 UNESCO Poetry event in British Columbia.
Back in the Farm . . .
as my beloved would say
to make heavy matters
not weigh me down
but we both know it too well
this sickness has its way
to stay deep in our psyche
because the white man
knows not to let it be
the urge to root for slavery
is etched in his DNA
history repeats itself indeed
his barbarism, his most addictive weed
as i write down these words in despair
i am filled with paralyzing thoughts
as i am acutely aware
this disease does not yield itself
to be an easy repair
(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 11.20.2019
We say we love them.
And we most certainly do.
Then comes the end of their time.
We are not there. We are never there.
One by one, my elderly passed away.
Today still, my heart runs astray.
Neither my mind nor my heart
Is able at any peaceful point to find
The means to console me on my own way
They face death alone . . .
Leaving an unfillable void in our soul.
(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 11.29.2019
~ ~ ~
When my last elderly has transitioned on November 26, 2019 far away from me, this poem came into being.
A Duet with Zhuo Wenjun
Love should be pure, as white as snow on the mountain,
And as bright as the moon amid the clouds.
I heard of your duplicitous intentions,
So I came to break off our relationship.
Today we drink a cup of wine and bid farewell,
Tomorrow we part ways at the moat.
I walk alone above the imperial moat,
And watch the water flowing eastward.
Cold and sorrowful,
A bride at her wedding should not weep.
I want a man who loves me with single-hearted devotion,
And we will stay together as our hair turns white.
A loving couple should be like the shimmering fish
Wriggling at the end of a bamboo rod.
A man who values loyalty
Is worth more than money can buy.
[Zhuo Wenjun, “Song of White Hair”]
hülya n. yılmaz:
once the aged soul
has undressed to the core
layers of her body-fabric become vain
waiting for an annihilating frost to set in,
the inconsolable void might attain its resolve
fanaticizing that the fangs of lost love
have begun at last to will to eat away
the one punica granatum in decay
one red droplet at a time . . .
[hülya n. yılmaz, “a crying Pomegranate” in Aflame, Memoirs in Verse]
~ ~ ~
This poem is one of my three that have been included in the November 2019 issue of The Year of the Poet, published by Inner Child Press International.
when the body acts out
your own mortality
taps you on the shoulder
you don’t self-indulge in angst
thoughts of those who have suffered
and suffer hourly sharpen their silhouettes
right before your mind’s eyes
the heart is not far behind
you then arrive at a crossroads
taking the yet-untravelled path
surrounded by the peace of silence
you realize that against all odds
change might be on its way
to your surprise
you hold it by the hand
you no longer resist
like the ripples in a river
siding with its force
strong yet once again
on your own feet
(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 11.7.2019
the voice of silence
rustles in the night’s quiet
rivers always flow
(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 11.7.2019