Tag Archives: Inner Child Press International

“a secret life story”

a secret life story


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


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]


Filed under Poetry


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”


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”



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 . . .


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


un-written . . .


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”


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
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
the Cuneiform
the First Form of Writing


the First Form of Writing

but . . .

our history books
continue to claim
Nay! Oh, nay!
The Sumerians?
Of Ancient Mesopotamia?
The Cradle of Civilization?
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]


Filed under Poetry

“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

“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]


Filed under Poetry


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 . . .

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


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]


Filed under Poetry

“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
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]


Filed under Poetry

“a coincidence”

“Guyana Pastoral” kept calling me
from a place i dare not describe
i had no knowledge of the language
it was dubbed as Guyanese Creole
i still have no knowledge of the language
but assume to understand some words in it
it was the composer i just had to “get” anyway
and i believe i now have
Guyana’s Ambassador-at-Large
David Dabydeen
an explorer of the history of Guyana,
UNESCO’s Executive Board member
presenter of “The Forgotten Colony”

a mere sand particle at the sea colonies . . .

the owner of the incredible response
to J.M.W. Turner’s “Slave Ship”-painting
Turner’s depiction of African slaves in chains
being thrown overboard . . .
Dabydeen’s contemplation
on the ‘submerged body of a drowned slave
in the foreground’ of the piece,
his fantasy- and history-melding
upon the slave’s portrayal
his compelling act of reclaiming
and redeeming of the past
amid the shadows of his insights into
and studies of “the horrors of slavery and
colonization”, under the ever-so-thickening
clouds that carry on the darkest fame of
European barbarians, among which he ‘stages’
the migrant predicament
stating it as it is in an interview:

I’m inclined to think that Britain has
heavily depended on us for its material
and cultural development. The tribe had
an important say and influence in the
[British]development. You can’t be
a Guyanese without being a Brit and
you can’t be a Brit without being a
Guyanese, or a Caribbean.

recognition came along, it indeed came along
for Dabydeen would not leave any of it alone
along his steadfast extraordinary way
he helped the British develop some more
for he wanted the cast over the bloodied pools
under the blood-soaked beds no more
he helped the world develop some more
so, he co-edited a monumental how-to-book
for the walking dead of colonialist barbarisms-at-large
the Oxford Companion to
Black British History
which went down to history
as “a magisterial excavation of Black Britain”

one award after another accompanied Dabydeen
not merely for his editing work but rather as
a poet –the winner of the Commonwealth Poetry Prize
a masterful novelist
a model scholar
a literary-icon-educator
the Director of the Centre for Caribbean Studies
and Professor at the Centre
for British Comparative Cultural Studies
at the University of Warwick
and much more . . .

a coincidence?

I think not!

my discovery
of the Highly Esteemed David Dabydeen
was meant to be

for it has materialized
at a time of an utterly-trying
professional hardship of mine
not to exclude all those contemplations
on the value of poetry to me
a life-ring in a turbulent sea
with a nearby-view of the long-lost years
to no longer be
David rescued me
a professor passionate in teaching
a heavily-faded scholar of some merit
however depressed or self-oppressed
a struggling writer of fiction
a poet starving for self-attention
with much to tell and speak of yet
including the ‘migrant condition’
though not of Black History alone
nor purely of David’s “Slave Song”

i wouldn’t know where to begin
and doing disservice to any gems
is not cannot will not be mine to claim

it is my own path that i will follow
believe me there is significant sorrow
in that which i am able to pierce
through at least one lightless shadow

i shall proceed
whenever wherever the ground is opportune
of course, always all ways
with fiery thanks from the soul
to that magical tongue
called the Guyanese Creole

© 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]



Filed under Poetry