Time yet to be gained
I
we’re in a river of
dream
sleep that
that has falls
become in
the bed water
it flows when it
over
ceases.
in a wave of colours
white
that seeks
sound to
like wash
darkness over
unfolding dreams.
II
The morsel of madeleine soaked
in tea.
As the liquid captures
the elements of flour, crumbles
seconds later.
No more territory to conquer.
Withdraw your soldiers -
this is not a war
The soldiers, though
they cannot be back.
After all, they're unconscious.
deaf to the sea, at night,
blind as the sand.
But it was as if one of them
one of them gets stuck on the vast
shore
in the rocks.
in pain.
he doesn't move.
the dark spot in the madeleine
persists, in pain,
only to advance and be gained
by the sea, blind.
You tell the sea what is
The
biggest nightmare for it
In your chest.
It’s
not the storm
Stuttering the words -
It’s
warfare
Relentless search of words
As
it moves in the sand
Now deeper down
Beating
up the grey soul
If there is not any
Depth
to the enemy
Gem from the past
conquers
the future.
Comes out as
A
layer of sand
Revealing the malady now
Digs
into the wound
In her relentless
Releasing
the blue
You see the darkness
Blanched
into water, now
You see it away
Until the
lighthouse
Open your eyes
It
will not send it back again
For the light has changed.
Aysegul Yildirim is a researcher and writer whose poems have appeared in The Maynard, Trouvaille Review and Otoliths. She's been hiding away in the mountains in Wales and loving it.
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