Our Elderly

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.


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“A Duet with Zhuo Wenjun”

A Duet with Zhuo Wenjun

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.



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In the Silence of the Night

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
floating alongside
strong yet once again
on your own feet
you stand

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 11.7.2019

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the voice of silence
rustles in the night’s quiet
rivers always flow

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 11.7.2019


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a futile experiment
unintended . . .

vanity snickered
as none noticed




(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 10.31.2019




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“life on fire”

life keeps burning into Earth’s core
gold-plated pen on imported paper . . .
insane politicians, disguised as humans
don their games of ultimate absurdity
against the wildest definition of sanity
each de-constructs, destroys and destructs
until their own brains shrink day by day
alongside ours, which we have obviously sent
onto lost grounds somewhere else to play

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, August 21, 2019


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those who say they speak for humanity

dress up in the darkest brand of nationality

including my own state of being torn

what an extent to hypocrisy!

rapidly, we become historians

though we are the mere custodians

of our own preferred schools of thought

long ago, innocence had been lost

no matter who now claims to have it

only a blurry line remains

atop the muddled bloody stains

in the name of humanitarianism . . .

what a glamorous facade!

why not call it what it is?

selective nationalism!

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, October 13, 2019


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