The Seed Of The Moon Stuck

Kasım Kobakçı




The Seed Of The Moon Stuck

The seed of the moon stuck in the corner of the chair at night,
She also knows…
The situation that the shadows leave behind their traces…
Meeting squares in silent stances,
His saliva keeps watch in his throat,
The occupation armies are also aware of the situation…
All five lira grocery shopping,
And the fountain pen throwing up in the credit book;
They have heard from anyone like…
Smelling of Cuban cigars on his expedition,
Even the captain with the Albanian liver knows it on her face ...
Right in the middle of their language, where it should have stayed:
I don't know what vuslat is,
But it reminds me of you...

The young man with the pen on his Yemeni hat,
Don't you mind, are you gavur?
The street prostitute staring at the shop window in turmoil,
It's as dominant as the black nail polish in her bag.
Dozens of greetings to his mother,
This imam from whose door I collected drunkards;
She would not be ashamed to say "ask me".
By coincidence, he hired the most beautiful daughter of the market tradesman,
Even the lame Jew studied her lesson…
They put fires on tin torches...
Bodies in the heat,
Knowing is scorched in the grinning backward.
In the homeless cooking under the Sunday newspaper,
She cried a while ago…
I don't know what is night,
But it reminds me of you...

They shot the pigeons in the bosom of time without defence.
We wrapped its wing in reinforced consolations.
We could not catch up with the account of the mercy of mercy…
We perched under the three or five rain,
There they found,
They took our souls from the forehead map...
The crime scene is full of evidence.
We're left unsolved by the abundance of dissenting evidence.
With all I counted, I was defeated in numbers,
Your uniqueness accompanied by its direction;
We were left without light at the very bottom…
"Unknown perpetrator",
I don't know what is unsolved,
But it reminds me of you...

Before, before you and me,
Loneliness divided the bread we extended.
But you never left.
A half-witted opinion.
One vuslat, one night, one unsolved...
And the named You.
The sum of all of them in small squares;
Nightmare bouts that are always brought by expectations,
The meadows of heaven, the white flood…
Summary of my account:
As a result of the triggering of the vuslat,
The night he abetted,
My unsolved departure...
I know what loneliness is...
But it doesn't remind me of you...

I'm dirty, sweaty, ugly, poor, but I'm poet enough to write you, enough to write you.

Kasım Kobakçı
Kayıt Tarihi : 31.8.2022 21:33:00
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