Tag Archives: Poetry

On the Road Again

not empirically

reflecting
reminiscing
contemplating
all my beloveds, in my love-line
to be remembered at the core of my being
entering my soul’s depths again one by one

i am trying hard not to feel sad
for their passing to death or to life
surely, they, like i, faced many a strife
but they also were given, like i, many a smile

a sorry excuse for a selfish sense of comfort . . .

have i been loving enough?
have i hugged them with a caring
that had by far surpassed the empirical?

on the road again

questions galore

if only one more lifetime with them
could knock today on my self’s door . . .

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, February 27, 2019

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“Taking Loved Ones for Granted”

taking loved ones for granted . . .

my beloved said these words this morning
as a response to my unease with my self
about matters pressing hard on my psyche

he was not judging,
only listening through his heart
reason joined in on our soulful exchange

my dis-ease of the self in many of its aspects
had to come out and speak up,
for the dissatisfaction i have been having
with my wholesome embrace of my loved ones
had become severe, so severe that i knew
deep inside something had to change

a serious improvement was long overdue

my love is immense, it has been always,
but not so my actual actions

so, as i am examining my spirit at its core
i am jotting down these random lines
to have my contemplations, reflections,
emotions, thoughts, potentials,
capabilities, abilities and potential for a
higher consciousness chime in anew,
and i realize how much more there is
that i am ready and willing to do,
to say, to feel, to show, to reassure
and to confirm where my love is due

a self-examination of one’s own awareness
about life’s truly-mattering matters
is what i now find myself do

and this realization
arrived at my doorstep
not a moment too soon

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, February 15, 2019

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Lamenting over Zakariya al-Jaber, 6

nasıl kıydılar sana, masum bebek
Şii misin, Sünni misin ne demek
kırık camla boynunu bıçaklamış
iki ayaklı o mahlûk defalarca
o her yanı öpülesi güzel başını
koparmış kim bilir ne kadar süren
yürek kaldırmayan işkencenden sonra
bir de çaresizliğinin vahşeti içinde
akıl almaz bir melek katliamı
yaşayan anneciğinin çığlıkları altında

lânet olsun senin din anlayışına, ey yetişkin mahluk
lanet olsun senin gibi iki ayaklı hayvanlara
lanet olsun taksi kullanabilen
sürüngenden beter
hiç yaşamamış olsa
tibbi bir deneye yararı olabilecek
o ruhtan yoksun lanet olası varlığına

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 2.11.2019

Bugün Suudi Arabistanda bir taksi şoförü tarafından katledilen 6 yaşındaki minik meleğin anısına

In honor of Zakariya al-Jaber, 6 years old, who was brutally murdered in Saudi Arabia for being a Shiite Muslim. My anguish at this news was so overwhelming that I only could write a few words in my native tongue. May such atrocities never come on to the path of another little angel. Anywhere. In the notoriously inhumane Saudi Arabia, in particular.

“Saudi Arabia: Boy beheaded [. . .]”

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“indigenous”

indigenous

are we not all?
indigenous, that is?

at some point or another
our host country has feasted itself
with our native tongue, customs
traditions – our native everything
but then, our origins’ uniqueness began to melt
into our new home’s sphere
we were in no despair
we were devoted
and quested
to make it
here

our religion began to change
as did our original language
our ways of life altered themselves
we also had much baggage
from our long-gone past
we needed to adapt fast

did i say “indigenous”?
are we not all?

© hülya n. yılmaz, December 31, 2018

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This poem will be published by Inner Child Press International in the February 2019 issue of The Year of the Poet VI.

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“Mesoamerica”

Mesoamerica

an area spanning from central Mexico
to Honduras and Nicaragua
encompassing diverse
civilizations of the
pre-Columbian era

what did those cultural entities do
is what i wonder about when i read
generic definitions as the one above
what were the landmarks of distinction
of this region’s “flourished” civilizations?

like we, they too were no doubt divided by language
religion, social class, economics and politics
how did they cope with those divides
is to me the must-be-asked question
did they ever quest for peace?

do we, in full reality, quest for peace?
if so, why then do we not have it yet?
what can i alone, we together, strive
to achieve a stronghold on that too
slippery road of our differences?

their faith was in multitudes
as were their tongues
not any different,
the rest of their
construct

we are looking at ourselves
in the same inexorable mirror
and do not see what we actually are:
bones, joints, flesh, hair and organs inside
all of which we all will have left for the other side . . .

© hülya n. yılmaz, December 30, 2018

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This poem will be published by Inner Child Press International in the February 2019 issue of The Year of the Poet VI.

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“Cherokee to Ho-Chunk”

Cherokee to Ho-Chunk

it is not only the volume as far as their names
but also their inherent cultures’ vast and timeless bounty
that made today’s North America, the supposedly
newly discovered world’s 3rd largest continent

and, each of their tribes suffered

Native Americans, that is

they faced pain beyond

humanity’s capacity

they were subjected to tortures
to butchery, to slavery and to conversion
to Christianity – or else, they would have met death

we all sit now in our own comfort on their land
having pushed them into the most remote
corners of low lands of their country
either pitying what has become of them over time
or admiring their enduring strength, integrity, dignity

how, amid immensely bloody tragedies, they still do rise
to shout loud and act out their ancient words of wisdom
as to how to live with respect for every dab of our world
in honor of not merely the two-legged animal species
but, of our four-legged counterparts, too

regardless of what any of us has / not done in person
collectively, we bear the onerous weight of annihilating
an entire indigenous people, together with their languages,
cultures, generations-surviving rich history and daily lives;
of guiding them to their irreparable shameful demise

how many times have i cited your wise insights
not having a clue whom to give the credit to
dear members of the Cherokee, the Apache,
the Iroquois, the Pawnee people, the Sioux,
the Miwok, the Shoshone, the Osage Nation,
the Navajo, the Lakota people, the Ute people,
the Sauk people, the Cheyenne, the Crow Nation,
the Nez Perce people, the Ho-Chunk, the Ponca,
the Paiute, the Omaha people, the Hidatsa, the Odawa,
the Chumash people, the Mandan, the Duwamish people,
the Iowa people, the Cahuilla, the Modoc people, the Otoe,
the Yakama, the Pima people, the Chiricahua, the Arikara,
the Missouria, the Sac and Fox Nation, the Omaha people,
the Meskwaki, the Odawa, the Washoe people,
the Patwin, the Goshute, the Serrano people,
the Maidu, the Quechan,
the Oneida Indian Nation,
the Yankton Sioux Tribe, the Kumeyaay,
the Indigenous peoples of the Northwest,
the Chinookan peoples, the Clatsop, the Miami people,
the Tulalip, the Mandan, the Hidatsa and Arikara Nation,
the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes . . .

forgive my silence
forgive my ignorance
i bow before each of you

forgive my daring, desperate plea
that which i brought along with me
in my quest to seek wisdom from thee
it is said to come from a Plains Indian, you see:

“Give me knowledge, so I may have kindness for all.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This poem was submitted to the January 2019 issue of The Year of the Poet VI, published by Inner Child Press International

 

 

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“Falling Leaves”

spiraling down
a bunch of dry leaves
landed on the asphalt
if my car did not crush them
drivers behind me surely did
the warm early-fall breeze
was too laid-back to enable
those beauties of nature’s recent past
one more minute to last
you may ask

what’s in a few dry leaves?

a mere excuse for me to contemplate
my travels in less fortunate lands

in one of them, called Palestine,
i had seen frivolous mercilessness,
that which stems from us,
the supposedly humane human species
for whose hate-filled greed
the innocent was being crushed
under the fancy tools of modernity
eagerly crafted by none other
than our so-called humanity

i screamed in silence
“enough already! when, where do you stop?”
facing such sorrow,
even my lungs could not keep up
they abandoned me in my shout
thus they keep falling prematurely
one new-growth of a leaf at a time . . .

 

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 10.1.2018

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