Excerpt from the diary of the Conquerors of Gezi

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A slithering sound from the back

Our necks whip around to look — angers the skeleton

A resounding crack of the bones follow

Then a slimy caress on the leg leaves our skin cold and damp

Disappears in haste — a knee jerks imagining the worst

A slight flutter by our ears

Pure white and a soft offbeat blue 

Caught from the corner of the eye

Delicacy among the entirety of the ebony 

Our bodies still.

 

Down under, there is life growing high and higher still

Glistening with dew in an intimidating green

Filled with soldiers lined up at border 

Thorns

An unnecessary do not touch sign in bright red paint

Soldiers unmoving by among the forest green

Protecting the tracings of the land that transforms and moves

Charcoal into moss and into pit pat patterned green

The thorns of the land stand tall 

And they let us pass

 

The white velvet of the girls’ dresses cascade down 

In waves of silk and pool around their feet and hide their heels

Twisting away from hands that reach out to touch

Another do not touch sign — This time in a soft curious blue

But they let us pass

 

Climbing to rooftops that overlook the witching night

The roofs covered in silver tall grass — inviting as a bed 

It assures our feet that dig into them 

like sitting on your couch after a long day 

A comfortable sigh

Girls still mill around the tents here and there 

Like butterflies gazing down at innocent petals

They stand aloof lifting up the forever dark.

We simply watch — standing across and unable to lay down

Because we do not belong

 

The onlookers from the terraces above have

Bolts of fire in their eyes

And a force that pulls their brows down closer to each other

And we bow down

Surrendering outsiders

Though they let us pass

We are not meant to touch

Such heights of beauty

The soldiers wait on us and we

By the bottom lay in the dirt of all

And let the thorns be.