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Binnaz Yildiz Poem
We wash our dead, our dead!
We make paper bags, alembics, sandpaper and words from their bones
The abstract reality of the walls - the chandelier of the sky - the sound reflected in the water
We mix our mortar like we are doing things bigger than our size
Sworn - promises were given - everything was irrationally dismissed
Above a fire - a swearing from the flames - a gothic wound - the embers of our chest
And our dead are the apocalypse scenario - the pendulum of time of our geography
Helpless puerperal - not a baby but fresh blood pouring from our womb
A raining cloud was hanging in the coffin - a lost continent in a steel box
Our dead were silent! The eye in the compass - the hunter in the cave - silent Ptolemy
A text in Sanskrit on the steles - the bat flower - dark history
And the screaming dead, Ida Nadi, Ida Nadi!
Copyright © BINNAZ YILDIZ | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Binnaz Yildiz Poem
Fold-count-recount and refold the puzzle in my mind- the map in gold dust-whose memories-flying lamps-exploding light bulb chaos-Edison's memory
Everywhere and nowhere-whose is ?The soul of things-intuition from the lining that I do not wear- purified from my bones I was thrown into a bell jar
The lid was closed-the room was folded: The mirror was broken in my mind. Darkness. BLIND SPOT(…)
Copyright © BINNAZ YILDIZ | Year Posted 2025
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