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Poem from: Naser Najafi
Istanbul an old quilt which has been captured
by the militaries,
security agents, smugglers
and owners of hotels,
City of counterfeits
Bogus after- shave
City of fraud
Where workers eat cheap food
Militaries are cannibal.
City of (Tan ) and (GUN Ė AYDEN ) newspapers
(DEVLAT PLAY BOY LAR AMERIKIYN -SALATA.)
Those newspapers which sell Turkish pretty women for a few $
Phenomenal beauty ,terrifying ugliness
A city where every nights the buses collect
dead bodies from factories bring home.
City of expensive hotels and cheap slummy inns
In where American Generals, Bug-Pashas
sucking the blood out of you.
Is a sad ,sultry woman surrounded by
pimps .On one hand she has a salacious smile on her lips
on the other , she tries to covers her tears .
City of melancholy beauties, posh poverty.
City of all fugitives rich and poor .
City of queuing lotto ,
feeble people dreamingly queuing up
for Lucky Ticket!
on the roof of pleasant humidity
buried in the ď Tobaccoís and RockyísĒ nightmare.
faint because of Dollarís and lemonís perfume.
A city which simultaneously erects sex and religion
City of little revolutions
a torturing place for big revolutionaries.
A city where in its factories by force make the under- aged young
hard labours get naked
and in its bordellos even old women get ravaged.
Is a broken winged goose in water filled with crocodile,
Is the empire of pirates ,capitalism
and Persian- Golf sí Arabian princes,
like the Kuwaiti one who bought
the Turkish young women on sale
for only a million lire at the Marble and Hilton hotel.
On the skin of salted sea like a magnificent herpes,
capitalismís breast cancer .
the nightmareís maroon grins at the gates of remote bordellos.
An old and childishly stupid kid
who sleeps calmly through un-rhythmic lullaby
in the numbness of amber vine ,
in the sourness of olive yards.
Is a shrewd girl in the moonlightís boat
with her dried mouth ,wrangled hair
paddling on the hunchbacked sea.
Is the povertyís horrifying laryngeal
The whispering of fishers agreements.
Purple shriek of seagulls.
vain of tremendous pain, a cheap lyric .
In the hurricaneís depth.
A severed head sings its greatest song ,
with a long as wide as Oxygen .
Rotten teeth in the mouths of harbor
chewing in the gloom , saliva ,regret and the humidity ,
drowning in the moonlight of salty waters ,
in the blackish hallucinations.
A weeping middle-aged man
who throws his jealous luscious wife in the sea ,
from whom and his stormy boundaries
the sea- maids do run away .
A gloomy trembling old man ,
who throws his progeny's transparent determination
in the ditch of fate, drowns himself
in a hot bowl of ďIŞKAMBEAď
with a piece of fresh lemon and
then slips into frozen time of earth with excitement.
A bright lifeless body in the arms of history.
calls up the human progeny to the procession of freedom ,
at the highest of lightless springs
sobs all the dampness of the world .
In a way that pregnant clouds rain tiny gravels
on to dewís sorrow.
An agony affidavit of legendary sanctimony
Sells his body to a terrifying salacious atheistic passion,
till in the attendance of constraint and choice,
he knocks down that ambidextrous ghoul to a mythical mortar ,
building up again his children out of Tears ĖProteins
and Dew - Phosphorous.
Sleeps by dawn, sobs nightly life ,
overly exhausted, exasperated
from intoxication of a loud yawn
with hair disheveled ,
She drowns herself in a sea of Mascara and Tears
raising to phosphorus twilights from painsí shoulders
in the exceeding joy of fishers
Singing ď Rouhi-souĒ and ď HekmatĒ .
The giddy expecting whale in stagnant water of colonization.
Sturgeons have nested in the split of her teeth
and sea weeds shroud her dull eyes, soon she gives birth.
Shaking through laboring whispering secretly
about shore- less storms.
affection flows in its veins like a melted iron ,
wisdom like the joyful dew .
let me talk about love and wounds
Talk about broken scab in prisms of endless melancholy,
about my home which is shattering in my nerves.
The sun of wild chamomile laid ashes in the sulphuareous dawn ,
bleeding star rolled down from the mirrorsí branches.
subterranean dew is buried on summersí burning crockery
SurprisinglyÖ. Is also the collapsing yellow contemplations
in sunís eclipse on the exhilarated shoulder of my home.
OhÖ my land
Your patient ,troubled dress has never been fluttering
in water-lilyís wave.
In the morning light your bare legs have been pruning ,
got faded in the whip of darkness
which the sun and breeze had carved them.
AlasÖÖ Your paradise arms are like a bitter child ,
lost his aim in the dessertsí sands ,resting on scattered death.
The world is meaningless without your presence
in the geography of epic and lyric.
My beloved !
Let me speak of the hemlock of the cinnabar of my amber nightmare
under the light of your eyes.
The tyrannical hostility made me leave behind the flowers,
stars and sun at home
pieces of my body in Istanbul ,
in Sofia the most beautiful eyes.
I flowed through the glittering sadness and dark shame of a land
its sun has been stolen .
Now with a tremendous flaming log ,
I am standing at the gate of a frozen city,
at the gate of memories and daggers
feeling bitterness ,
focusing on the liliaceous valley of exile with odious spiders,
hanging at its entrance .
Watch the capitalismís futureless bride!.
Preparing for her nightly love- making.
She polishes her body with the nectar of human-beings souls .
Her black hole desire is like a terrifying monster
which implants itself in the transparent sockets of human- beings eyes,
she rejuvenates her blood of geography
with the law of gangrene
in the freshness of dark mines
and in national apartaid delusions.
Look! its foreleg in ď AthensĒ
Its expectation in ď WarsawĒ
thighs in ď MadridĒ
jaws in theĒ PentagonĒ
Its pubis and uterus in the ďPersian Golf ď
makes her breasts young in ď IstanbulĒ.
I wish I could have rest in the Sofiasí gardens
when there is no more misery in the world.
In future strife ,
I wish I could die on the cobblestone
Of Istanbulsí squares.
My darling! Your wandering hands are my guide
far away from home
Your singing heart symbolizes a burning piece of my country.
Cover! my sadness .
Rain on me !flowers with
kisses and carnation .
ď I remember when our countryís hair caught fire
and its hands were worn out ,crying itself to blindness,
feverishly talking in blistery ,stony language.Ē
AhÖ my darling I lean from the highest chilly cloud
embracing its blisters .
I cry ,on the water-bed,
metal and grief.
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