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Thirty Something by Guliz Mutlu

Little is known throughout the rain. The sound is keen, but all my words are broken. I hear a single dog barking, longing in a distance. I call for you more than extolment, for I tell you, lambent. In a glow, I see you, fulgent. Apart from the rain, all my tears besides all of me. I walked far, unrealized anything, anything in noesis. Puff, the clouds filling my breath, waylaying my knots… I am thrown by a pirate far gone and falling into the deepest sky. The weather driving my heart away from the thunder, the edge of the lightning... You should be the lover of my single crystal shoe, when no further way left behind around midnight. Whatever in this rain becoming wild... If I were above the clouds to have a place in the dim! To apologize is not our crown kept, neither being quiescent for the blessed, nor revealing whatsoever ourselves. The light I lurk was a laughter to the sun around. Dawning I recall, tell me tomorrow, the chorus in a real tragedy! Let me tell you the moon is weaving a flower. I wish I were the moon! I wish I were a flower! Kiss a petal behind a smile, until you fall asleep! I will sleep alone or love will ruin me. The verge of my woe, nobody has come around and said so. Who is alive? Who has passed? Can we live? Can we return to our maze? I accept the mortality as a memory. Now is the past. Outside the dilemma, I fenced the words unspoken, I faced the dogma, killing me inside. I am composed in the moonlight, wakeless me, I sink in my penumbra. Blessed heavenly, good, cordial and sweet! I will go to sleep. Callback my name! It is a tear or a heartbeat I’m trying to touch. It gets uncertain I seek, for my flesh and a stone. All I can do is to dig a hole on earth. Death, have mercy! Mind me over my begging words! When I look at your immortality, less I need rest. It is not necessary to give me the apple you pick. I am the extant, merely the miscreant, the ignorant in me. If you ask my name, callback your name, your riddle will be the answer! The meaning of life biting my tongue. I am not serpent-tongued. Silence has a reputation and I forget the words all kind.





Guliz Mutlu lives in Turkey. She writes short poems, mostly haiku/ senryu for various journals and newspapers, The Mainichi, Modern Haiku, Frogpond. She likes listening to Classical Music, especially Schostakowitsch.

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