Poet: Işıl Ayça Akkuş

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Carrying the sun on the rocky roads,
the melody of rain
drained in a Monday vain.
Memories surrounded the boards.

Are we passengers
whom just abide by,
sharing stories in our pockets,
left landscapes wander like clouds?

We bring the daylight to hide grey ashtrays,
running out of breath.
How many more oaths to take,
as pushing the rock through hills?

The wise voice reminds:
this is the Stone Age of sapere.
Dress your armours.
Hold on to each other
in the storm of another.

There shall be nothing more precious
than the memories created,
unwritten poetry near Dante,
the music yet to be heard,
the melodies of Esplanade,
a joy found in tears,
tearing apart yesterday’s worries.

Misery of yearning to learn,
learning the misery.
In a glimpse of the theory,
romanceless hopeful
finds peace in an arbitrary Friday,
the warmth of a friend,
the kindness of a stranger.

All the notes of living
gather like mulled wine.
After all, this is the first time
of being this self of ours,
leaving traces.

Are we passengers,
just passing by each other,
mentioned in stories unwritten?
Taking a leap,
leap of hope in the rain,
when fear slides away,
in a dream chased dearly.

Past selves lined up in the choir,
the tears of Sisyphus are never in vain.
If the choice were to be made again,
they would take the bet.

Lost in the maze,
willfully, loving the questions,
as they ask themselves
whether they could live without it.

A relentless effort
for the ones who are destined to write,
answering Rilke.
The letter is on the chest of the pigeon.

They shall run now,
as this chase is like water
in the drought of living matter.