at the sunset that bird was carrying a chagrined breeze in his mouth
he had tales under his wings when trees feel chilly
though no single site was remained not-kissed on his mad voice
was swinging on the bough like riddled guerrilla
there are words grid newly on to revolt
there are words wounded, bloody, shot to pieces
there are words sunflowers in the silence of the field
there are words stood on the verge of the hell!
spices bazaar her bosom used to tend a wuthering woman
once adrift her hairs the birds got to be fooled
she leaned solo forever to the enchanted fountains
cavalcade used to keep breath, horses never neigh in the fire scene forests!
beginning of that story began in a dooryard
at Kaf mountain where her tears coalesce into one
the Agni had given her wings’ colour
bevy of crying birds close to her!
having looked at, beyond her chest was in sight
ember on the tip of her tongue
un-narrowed one thousand and one night on the tip of her tongue
it was migration she bestowed, being sheltered in her caves
Abraham was not the only one thrown into the flames
Joseph the only one into the well
Zuleika was not the only one caused to memorize her story
that bird flied so, alighted so, died so!
that bird head over heels, chagrined winds in his mouth…
(I wrote this poem first in Turkish… hashem khosroshahi, h.h.)