Black & White Archive

1 January 2014

…

size kendimden bahsediyorum doktor

“biraz yağmur kimseyi incitmez”.

iyi ruhların arasında dolaşan

bir gölgeden sözediyorum

acıdan çatlamış kalbi

soğuğa dayanıklı kılan

bir bilgiden

terkedilmiş şizofrenleri

kendine çeken vadiden

keşişlerin hüznünden

ve bir aşk yüzünden

ayları karıştran kişinin

tababeti ruhiyesinden

size kendimden bahsediyorum doktor

ben kar yağarken ıslanmam.

benim öbür adım rüzgar

uğradığım orman

değdiğim kalb uğuldar.

de ki gayb seferinde kaybolmuşum

yola haritasız çıkanların

yıldızları ve münhal yüzleri okuyan

şarkısını unutmuşum

sönmüş taşıdığım ateşle beraber

yaz günleri, uğruna okul kundakladığım

ayinler.

de ki bulunur elbet

iyi bir hal üzre kaybolan kişi.

meğer anka değil biganeymişim

kalbim kendine varmadıkça

bitmezmiş yolum, divaneymişim

uyardı melekler rüknettinmişim

uyandım bir namaz yürür önümde.

benim de buharım tüterdi doktor

bir zaman, aşktan bahsedilince.

eve annesiz dönen çocukların

diline musallat olan

ve hazin bir ırmağın

geçerken ışıttığı kentlerin

diline musallat olan

akşamları baharın

ıslattığı mezarın

diline musallat olan

bu dünyayı severken

kalbine ağrılar saplanan kişiye

düşlerin kimyasından

şifalı otlar çıkaran

ben bir ilahi söylüyorum doktor

ay vakti, dantel kızların

diline musallat olan

…

su yükseliyor

iyi ki gemideyiz rüknettin

iyi ki senin öbür adın rüzgar

iyi ki mevsimden mevsime bir yol

yani inanan bir kalbin var.

…

Rüknettin’in Kalbi İçin Kehanetler , KEMal Sayar

2 Comments

22 December 2013

♦

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence :
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending ;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility : whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens ; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

E.E. Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

– See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15401#sthash.wIbUUuqL.dpu

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

– See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15401#sthash.wIbUUuqL.dpuf

No comments

1 December 2013

Mor Gabriel Monastery, Midyat