A Trio of Landai

*smile, It Is 2010 and Spring

May the forked tongue bind their bloody hands,

And the womb birthing you all char them in their own fire.

                               § § §

O You, Honorable Grandfather-Husband!

You think a prayer cleanses your sins.

My cradle, barren yet long after your manhood burst!

                                § § §

Mama, Did You Turn Into Stone?

Why did you rip me off of your breasts?

Under his atrocious soil is where I now must rest.

© hülya n. yılmaz, 3.12.2016

≈ ≈ ≈

*The first folk couplet – a Landay (defining also a short poisonous snake in Pashto), is a tribute to a teenage Afghani poet who died soon after setting herself on fire in protest of her severe beatings by her brothers. Her crimes? To fall in love, to seek education through other women’s poetry, to write her own poems and to read them on a hotline for girls. Mirman Baheer, a women’s literary group that, in addition to offering other services for Afghanistan’s female population, ran the radio program. This young frequent caller whose poetic word was of promising extent was much adored. The news of her burning would reach her circle in the spring of 2010 from a hospital through a phone call by the teenager herself. Her on-air persona was Rahila Muskasmile in Pashto.

This Landai Trio appeared as my poetry contribution in the April 2016 issue of The Year of the Poet III, a monthly international anthology published by Inner Child Press, Ltd. and consists of poems by eighteen writers, with between two and three new featured poets each month.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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…a mid-week musing…

 

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Photo Credit: Self

Date: Summer 2005

Location: Ada, Sinop – Turkey

 

 

 

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. . . an attempt at escapism . . .

on my half-hour sanity break
right before the daily grind dims my faint light
in desperate need for an outlet of ease
emotions run high
way too high

only that one Turkish TV series will do
as melodramatic as an audio-visual lift can be
the camera follows the tear-clad remorse-bathed 
magnetizing tragedy-filled episodes 
one after another

still among the living 
the loved and loving ones 
refresh the ground of the rashly poured soil 
a water bin waits by their side for its turn 
while they ask for forgiveness over and over
 
all hopes abandoned

yet again and again
wishing against all odds
a worldly sign to pay them a visit 
they will crowd each of the graveyards

to hear a 
forgive me 
resonate inside their own . . . 


hülya n. yılmaz, March 28.2016
A post-mortem dedication to 
Dr. Mahmut Oğuz Ergün (5.7.1931-3.28.2015),
my larger-than-life uncle - my last beloved 
on my mother's side of the family

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(A title of your wish appears here)

“There’s nothing like a song of lost love to remind you how everything precious can slip from the hinges where you’ve hung it so careful.” ~ Sue Monk Kidd, The Secret Life of Bees

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…a mid-week musing…

genetic testing

Photo Credit: Self

Date: Summer 2005

Location: Ada, Sinop – Turkey

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. . .eating food with no flavor

she had moved to the shallow waters

as she no longer dared to care for depth

a jet ski then appeared from nowhere   

not heeding her transparent fragility

it drove over her petite stature with speed

razored her surrounding waves one by one

her limbs were now violently taken apart . . .

piece by piece she began to fall into the sky

flew and flew on the wings of her freezing tears

higher and higher into the vast stagnant open sea

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

© hülya n. yılmaz, 3.13.2016

nature--sad-tree-munir-alawi[1]

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…a mid-week musing…

pencilin in death

Photo Credit: Self

Date: Summer 2005

Location: Ada, Sinop – Turkey

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Loneliness – in the words of the Sufi poet HAFIZ

Don’t surrender your loneliness

So quickly.

Let it cut more deep.

Let it ferment and season you

As few human

Or even divine ingredients can.

HAFIZ

 

 

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“An artistic depiction of Hafez” (Wikipedia)

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Date: Summer 2005

Location: Ada, Sinop – Turkey

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. . . lack of dignity in crying?

In the words I quote below, Dejan Stojanovic – a contemporary poet, writer and essayist, conceptualizes a human quality I lack when one were to take into consideration only my reaction to tragic life events:

“To hide feelings when you are near crying is the secret of dignity.”

It would be a dramatic understatement for me to even claim that my case ever involved a mere “near crying” state. Tears run in abundance. Whenever the suffering and pain of others have my attention – regardless of my proximity to them. Then, there is also the matter of my own suffering. While I handle pain rather well, the emotional hurt I experience in the face of heart-wrenching occurrences is too stubborn to let me hold back the salty drops. But, I am not apologizing. For I hold the conviction that the release of one of our inborn emotions cannot serve as a basis to measure dignity. Would you agree? I would love to hear from you either way while I continue to hope that our psyches will grant us with a far less rigid definition of this human characteristic.

In the meantime, I leave you with my emotion-laden words. They came to me at a time when I was in a most vulnerable state of being, facing a rash and harsh demand for a loss to life. As you will probably also conclude, the following lines evidence that my self-judgment as I have started my post with is not severe after all:

ripped off of its cage

hot iron presses upon the open heart

defeated not yet deceased

the body continues to beat

(hülya n. yılmaz, 5.20.2015)

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