Before the pandemic . . . when life was not all about being concerned for the well-being of your loved ones (or of yourself) . . .
Enjoying the privilege of being the second and last “foreigner”, and hence, receiving personal attention (the first one being the Honor Guest, William S. Peters, Sr. whose book, Tunisia, My Love, was launched) . . .
Şükran/Teşekkür ederim/Danke sehr/Thank you, dear Abdelhakim Rabéi for the breathtaking memories!
a painter – unsuccessful a sculpturist – clueless an architect – only a wannabe an artist of music – no chance a dancer – failed after the beginnings
poetry and literature . . . daring to try them out at least
*”the seven fine arts and i” is one of the three Ekphrastic poems I have contributed for the September 2021 issue of The Year of the Poetpublished by Inner Child Press, AKA Inner Child Press International.
tucked in inside various kinds of envelopes, postcards and personal (or professional) letters donned their two-option stamp: domestic or international
they are now on their way to become a mere memory of the fast-disappearing past
long before emails won the popularity contest having gained a steady support at a record-breaking speed, snail mail used to be the long-distance venue with its two-option destination: domestic or international
if you are my age, you too have probably seen many a stamp some, uplifting in their flower prints or season-specific images; others, destined to mark awareness for many a fatal disease
who recalls ever seeing the Duck Stamp of the U.S. Postal Services in 2020? i do not, nor did i know about its significance as far as helping people conserve wildlife or its contribution to the visibility of educational programs in the United States, those that focused solely on largely neglected issues of environmental and conservation concerns
yet . . . for years – clueless about the notable mark of the Duck Stamp, i have been donating to the one leading U.S. organization – well-known in its efforts in this arena
I have written the following poem a few years ago in Turkish – my native tongue. The title, “Filistin Aklımda”, translates into English as “Palestine on My Mind”. The inspiration (if one could term it this way under the circumstances back then as well as at the present) was (and continues to be) the silence we keep in the face of unimaginable atrocities with which the helpless, the innocent, the bystander are being erased from the face of the Earth.
Filistin’in masumları kalbimden kalemime taşan tuzlu damlalarla birlik olmuş, umutsuz bir ümitle haykırıyor. Sessizce. Için için.
Insanlık uykuda. Insanlık unutkan. Ben dahil. Insanlık seçici. Insanlık kendi rahatında. Ben dahil.
Umursamazlık ve vurdumduymazlık bitmek bilmeyen günlerin sloganı. Çaresizlikler o kadarla da kalmıyor: Her yeni başlayan günün fütursuz odağı kendine biçilmiş özellikli konumunda ilelebet kurulmuş ayrıcalıklı tahtını koruyor.
Acaba, diyorum, bir dakika olsun sussak. Susabilsek yani. Mazlumlardan kendisine yol döşeyen, postalların asitte bekletilmiş bağcıklarıyla birer birer eritilip yitenlerin çığlıklarıni dinlesek.
Hiç değilse bari sosyal medya hatırına olsun, dinler gibi yapsak?
what i am about to say is a no-brainer, for sure my intent is not to assault your intellect but rather to express the most obvious so that none of us attempts to disrespect the basic reality of our humanity any longer
we are all born with melanin in our bodies some of us have more of this natural pigment while children are blind to such nuances (unless they are taught at home) as adults, some of us beg to differ we then choose to go against the stream, disrupting the most natural flow: all for one, one for all for the sake of harmony within humanity
skin hues, thus, become a means to hate, to hate unconditionally and passionately it is only a matter of a short time then before that hatred turns into sizable inheritances for generations to come
on account of our outer traits . . .
on account of variations in our pigments . . .
what a badge of shame to wear as the heritage of one’s family!
picture an eminent mural by Diego Rivera, please Dreams of a Sunday in the Alameda, for instance, with a sign in the hands of Don Ignacio Ramírez: “God does not exist”
a public furor ensues the artist is asked to remove the inscription he refuses to abide by such demands
the painting goes into a 9-year-long prison Rivera finally agrees to eliminate the controversial phrase but first, he avows his atheist stance and attests his views on religions: “a form of collective neurosis”
fast for three sets of ten-years breathe in the generous tears never exhaling in completion . . .
solitude grows into a safest companion lives pass by and handsomely multiply the longing still consents to no passersby but then sensation enters your frame’s aged wisdom is filled with its first ever self-belief your arid cells cry out womanhood – your birthright legacy in ceaseless trust all wed your blazing passion silenced since . . . heeding your throbbing psyche after having starved it for long you become one for a blissful while
the instant comes fast to divide
i hear you went on to your theories opting to instruct a joy for your intellect instead when did you resolve your time of bidding me farewell was just? what was to become of your devoted pupil you left with no respect to her aching pain?
loneliness cannot lie anymore for i had not been sated before hence the inconsolable aftermath
Remembering the unforgettable ride to Sinop at the Turkish Black Sea where my dear late uncle took us way back when . . . (I have not been to Uzungöl, the location depicted by this photo but witnessed similarly breathtaking sceneries. That breakfast spread looks so good right there!) / Artık hayatta olmayan can dayımın bizi Sinop’a götürürken gördüğüm unutulmaz Karadeniz manzaralarını hatırlıyorum. (Bu fotoğrafın odağı olan Uzungöl’ü hiç görmedim ama nefes kesen benzeri güzellikleri gördüm o yolculukta. Şu kahvaltı sofrasında bulunmak ne güzel olurdu!)
My introduction here is an utterly modest one. I want to hope that you, dear reader, will find and take the time to inform yourself about the accomplishments of the incredible INNSAEI team, Orbindu Ganga and Tejaswini Patil Dange, with which they have marked their literary journey in a short amount of time.
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