You Would Go To Condolences To The Child ...

Kasım Kobakçı




You Would Go To Condolences To The Child Bird Died

You would go to condolences to the child whose bird died,
Colorful baboons rained down in the consistency of rose sherbet,
Sobbing puppies; you would shorten prayers, prayers,
From your blessed back like the holy Mount Sinai.

My heart is hopeless that the pure grandchildren do not want to go down,
For the sake of weak tongues that know the taste of tears,
As the nights swarm with galaxies, on the neck of my heart,
In the cave of my body while the childhood of my soul sighs.

You were the one who didn't even say ugh to your servants,
You would sew up your rip and walk around with stones in your stomach,
While saying -I Cooked- with the arrogance of their rituals,
At least seventy times a day; You would beg forgiveness with love.

Sentence from living things; you were on the side of the oppressed workers,
You would not break the advices of anyone by greening in the middle,
You would not miss any opportunity to free your slaves.

It wasn't abductions from telling to living what you're talking about,
The lack of time to talk about living is true love,
Where timid rabbits meet sad gazelles,
It was a night like rivers flowing under purity.

Beating the heads of graceful rivers from stone to stone,
His kindness as he jumped from the cliffs as a waterfall,
It was like a weather when the crescent's shimmer hit our destiny,
The choir of breezes was the official ceremony on the eardrums.

And that mountain fist of longing is in the bed of the throat,
And cruelty; languages that run out of silence.

Asking the father of the shot innocents for bullet money,
What date should accept the autocrats in his memory now,
O dictator of our hearts, you used to beautify even the dictatorship.
As long as you start a job, swords would bloom on the glacier.

If you didn't go, if we didn't end, if we caught fire, if we rained,
To the hill of blasphemy, like hell, scorched for his love,
Your silence, the absolute baby laughter that suddenly subsides,
Your stagnation is the ancient whirlwind that draws and calms the gusts.

You would wander, the birds would fly as if at the bottom of the oceans,
Souls without you, now mute "Shura" wandering in the valleys.

Kasım Kobakçı
Kayıt Tarihi : 26.3.2023 08:15:00
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