CAGLA
SOKULLU
(echoes)
I
from two corners of the nocturne
our steps echo — towards the centre
the turn of her hands tears apart
the ever untorn
have you ever seen the cross-section of Selene
ever felt how the Night takes over you
when all is dark, we are but one silence — erect
In the midst of the silken route
I bandage her cuts with lace twilight
she asks me how we can stitch together
the ruby butterfly born of her lighter
when the night blinds me blue
Because an encore is only for the one who has watched
the core unfurl and unfasten from the world
and hurl itself at infinity with every ounce
of strength we Lovers can muster
II
the trace of a haughty sentiment
in colors of a hushed dialogue caught
under the linen, laughter
Alight
she smiles — in the wind is a ringing of bells
Leaning over the fence when Light does settle
jump across to the familiar elite element
where the crowds play Make Believe battle
we in our empowered (in)tent
Free from battles
listen among fireflies that never nestle
in their molten idleness forever sent
-enced to people like us — little
soles on soil, sentient
all we emit is love of a Nature oh so tensile
III
we sleep nestled in our Names
yours rolls off my tongue
with every utterance
you claim your heart
is misplaced with the Ancients
‘I yearn conflict’ I say
please, take from me as I am giving
would it ease the ache in our nations
in our instance
Our ectopia I will away
The word on my tongue I cannot speak
scatters away to stranger tides
and you looking up at the skies
utter my name Beloved
I am agnostic — still I atone
pray beg negotiate
hope a song invokes enough — poignance
IV
as we with each second rise —
we soar against our cruel Giver,
wrapped tighter, closer, by the hunger
of vines
Time determines you. Sing!
the frowning flowers demand, to your lover,
out into the silent Dunes let it ring!
Our paintings testify against our Heart.
Of darkness, what is this sore and haunted attachment to loving?
What is this craving of our souls for gore?
The ghoul tightens the vines, hits our soles
with a stick of cornel.
We are losing
silence in our brilliant prison, faith in our roles.