I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. A bird flutters round your skirt; On your brow, is there sweet? Or not? I know. Are your lips wet? Or not? I know. A silver moon rises beyond the pine trees: I can sense it all in your heart’s throbbing. I am listening to Istanbul,… Continue reading Orhan Veli Kanik
I don’t want to be a tree; I want to be its meaning. — Orhan Pamuk, My Name is Red. (Vintage; Reprint edition August 27, 2002) Originally published 1998.
We can’t be seen together. Our paths are separate. You belong to the butcher, I am an alley cat. You eat from a nickeled plate. I eat from the lion’s mouth. You dream of love. I dream of bones. But your path isn’t easy either, pal, Not easy To wag your tail every godforsaken day.… Continue reading Orhan Veli Kanik