Poet: Işıl Ayça Akkuş

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Questions asked without promises,
Taking a vigilant walk
In the world of bikes,
Wheels of fate chained in wonder,
The archer surrenders the snow.

Trembled leaves send their regards,
Dreams packed in luggage,
Yesterday’s tears dried in the rain clouds,
The future unfolds in the wings of a navy bird.

Skies sing lullabies,
Whilst the colors of the window,
Reflected in waters of grey,
The storm passes me by,
Just like novels lacking pages,
The love that never was.

Idea of an old record,
The soul of nostalgia,
Wandering in the streets of Notting Hill,
Running for so long,
Forgetting why the run.

Billy said, “slowdown,”
Thus, she wonders,
Are there trains waiting for her in Vienna,
Or is it just hopeless,
A phantom of dreams she grows nearby.

Look, there is a child on the horizon,
Regardless of the ambitions,
There is no race to be aced,
She lives as if living itself is a space
To exist and feel the cold and warmth.

If we write a story,
We might as well take the pen,
As our dreams overarch the pages,
Destined for us for who knows when,
Wounds embraced by a rare splash of sunlight.

Figuring the science of living,
After this is the first time being,
Sipping past lives from a ceiling,
The dust tells the legends of forests.

Footsteps in the rushed decisions,
Wild gazes hidden in shyness,
Yearning to learn and learn to yearn,
Longed to figure out this puzzle,
For the journey had not yet taken.