Tag Archives: Poetry

“My Friend, the Wind”

take away the tears
take away the worries
they are Man-crafted, can you not see?

playgrounds were once meant for giggles
where have all the tummy-laughs gone?
what are we doing? What have we done?
broken promises, lost souls galore
tender hearts, unable to smile anymore

my friend, the wind sat down with me again
attempting to cleanse off of my core the pain
there used to be a time when a gentle breeze
felt aplenty to keep my aching mind at ease
the more i age the more i sink into a sorrow,
for hope is being rubbed from babies’ ‘morrow

take away the tears
take away the worries
they are Man-crafted, can you not see?

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 8.9.2019


Filed under Poetry, Reflections

not enough

ironing my emotions away
the past with the roughest bumps, that is
where i stumbled upon
many a defect, many a flaw
deep at my core, i now know
i was not enough

i am not enough

you have washed, ironed, sewed, cleaned,
cooked, baked, entertained, and turned on
that “everything will be just fine”-smile
on your gorgeously freckled face
regardless of time’s impatient pace
family and non-family alike
sought from you many an advice
you were never absent to us,
your most precious ones,
but you were also there for strangers
the poor, the homeless, the family-less
came to your forever-open heart
life stole you away too soon
you missed out on most of our lives
you missed out on your grandchildren’s delight
but for whoever neared your grace
you were enough
you were always enough
you were much more than enough

ironing my emotions away
the past with the roughest bumps, that is
where i stumbled upon
many a defect, many a flaw
deep at my core, i now know
i was not enough

i am not enough

you were given many an obstacle on your career path,
so many stepped on your shoulders to a higher status, a higher pay
she, your love, was robbed from you when too young
you stood by us with your love, holding our hands one by one
you lived for the sake of us also on her behalf
you worked hard, utterly hard with no relent
whatever you earned, you saved,
saved and saved again
thanks to you,
we both lived well
you were enough
you were always enough
you were much more than enough

ironing my emotions away
the past with the roughest bumps, that is
where i stumbled upon
many a defect, many a flaw
deep at my core, i now know
i was not enough

i am not enough

you quested for a profession
to help people with surgical needs
all along, smiled at the grueling hours of work
you multiplied your soul to those nearby and afar
even then when life gave you three cancers all at once
while taking from you your one and only daughter tenderly young
you still smiled, continued to don that beautiful smile on your handsome face
you were enough
you were always enough
you were much more than enough

ironing my emotions away
the past with the roughest bumps, that is
where i stumbled upon
many a defect, many a flaw
deep at my core, i now know
i was not enough

i am not enough

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, August 3, 2019


Filed under Poetry, Reflections


i have been lulling my soul
to a sleep these days

i cannot decide
if my photo gallery
is a friend or a foe anymore
i memorize them time and time again

each picture ages you, Toruncanlarım,
so fast that i ache deep inside
for missing out on your heavenly smiles,
your whole-body “Grandma!” shouts,
your precious little feet, hurrying
to take my heart out in its yearning,
on its joy-dance with you two once more
amid your purity-scented hugs and kisses
and out-of-this-world sunshine-smiles

i have been lulling my soul
to a sleep these days
that i may wake up
to our olden times
and rejoice

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, April 10, 2019


[Photo Credit: My Daughter; Date: December 2013, right after my grandson’s birth. In this picture, he is resting on my shoulder . . . cut out of my respect for their privacy. As for my granddaughter, her birth happened so suddenly that I lack any pictures with her at the similarly early stages of her life. My poem is for and to both of them.]

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“Morocco in California”

one magical night
under the spectacular sky
in Morocco’s gorgeous Larache,
we all were tucked in love’s heart-laughter
sips of Turkish coffee, Americana,
sweets and tri-lingual chats galore
amid the eager eyes of some passersby
with interest to sell us jewelery for the fantasy

my dear family in Morocco
yet once again had connected with us
in the deepest depth of our souls that night

our spirits had conjoined
and were dancing unabashedly
in open air to our beings’ content

“there is a shop just around the corner . . .”
an invite after our several other delightful stops
was too appealing to resist
we had, after all, taken in
the aromas, the delicate tastes,
the visuals, the sounds earlier that day
and during all the enchanting days before

in that “shop just around the corner”
is where i met my Moroccan sandals
they were on display one minute,
snuggling against my feet, the next

after returning home,
i did not wear them for a long time
as far as i was concerned,
they were going to stay intact,
looking as pristine as they did
in that lovely “shop just around the corner”
i only wore them for special occasions . . .

today, however, i had them on,
caressingly, ever so tenderly
only in the car, safely tucked around my feet
but when we spotted a bluest-sky-kind of-beach
like those in my warmest memories from my country of birth
on our way right by a Vista Point in California,
i could not help but take my feet
for a child-like carefree outing
to the sands of the “Monastery Beach”

i did not get my sandals wet, though
oh no!
they stayed in my dry hands the entire time,
cuddling with me ever so snuggly,
caressing me with the love
of my Moroccan family

(c) hülya n yılmaz, June 27, 2019

[The sandals I am wearing in the picture are not the protagonists of my poem . . .]

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“i wish . . .”

i wish . . .

i, a woman of the West –
not an Anglo-Saxon, mind you!
Still, a woman of the West . . .
or so they tell me
because i look white, you see . . .

A mother of one and a grandmother of two;
blessed in childhood, youth, and old age too;
blessed to the extent that too many on Earth
are not even given the chance once to unearth.
For, i had my birth-country’s freedom and support.
As for my parents and extended family . . .
Ah, what a blessing in luxurious serenity!

When you hear me speak today in decent health
about how incredibly i have been blessed by life,
make no mistake, my little angel, i had many a plight
but none, as i sense from my being’s core, could come close
to the ordeals, trials, tribulations and ills you now face.

While i am telling you about how well-to-do i was,
i have no intent to even hint at monetary wealth –
for i did not have it then, nor do i now.
My family barely made do, but never had to bow
before any hardship life had in store for us.
Struggles were there all along. Yes.
Still, my brother and i have always known we did belong.
A safe, loving and caring environment was always there,
ready and able to help us through thick and thin to bear
our world’s incongruous challenges, tests, cruel offerings.

Throughout it all, schools were aplenty.
Schools for one, schools for all.
No child was forced to prematurely fall.
Also for the underprivileged, learning was free.

You, however, my little angel, face much strife.
All along, you keep deep inside that incredible drive,
that urge to make it happen no matter what, where or how.

The times are changing, a change must come now!

Tell me, oh, please tell me, what i can do!
With all my might, i want to be there for you!

i know . . .
these are mere words,
and as such they don’t say much,
but i write all of this to you from my being’s core,
and my intent derives its source from the depth of my soul.

So, will you open the gate to your tender heart and let me in?
Only then could you and i start building our learning blocks
in order to allow our spirits’ reunion to begin . . .

© hülya n. yılmaz, March 23, 2019

~ ~ ~
Phanice Achieng, a beautiful 12-year old girl from Busia, Kenya has read this poem on June 16, 2019 on the International Day of the African Child. Unfortunately, I have not been able to attend the poetry and culture festival honoring African children. A video recording of Ms. Achieng’s reading of my “i wish”, however, has been made available on social media. Others who had submitted their poems on the occasion of the said festival have also been provided with a video clip of their own work being read by a different child each time.


Filed under Poetry, Reflections

not a strong gust . . .

not a strong gust
but a set of tender breezes it was
that started to shake the leaves one by one

change was in the air
nothing to prevent, nothing to prepare for
like artificial breathing and then . . . no longer
trying to catch a gasp of air along the way,
in the midst of a blindingly dense fog,
attempting to see clearly once again
that which now belonged only
to the soon-to-be-forgotten past

each left for its own path,
struggling still to stick together
for a little while more
until none was the same as before

© hülya n. yılmaz, June 21, 2019


Filed under Poetry, Reflections

On the Road Again

not empirically

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


Filed under Poetry, Reflections

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 [. . .]”


Filed under Reflections



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

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.


Filed under Poetry, Reflections