A Poem by Gökçenur Ç

A You’re Far Away From Your Country Where I Am

You’re far away from your country where I am
day by day my poems
begin to resemble letters lost in the post:

You’ve fallen asleep on your long, banana-coloured couch,
your bun is undone, your glasses are about to fall from your fingers,
four of five apples in your plate have been eaten,
a book has a hair brush between pages to mark where you were,
a baltic blue blanket over your knees,
maybe you are dreaming a scene from a play with old voices:

You’re in our apartment, your mother
hasn’t gone mad yet, my brother hasn’t been conscripted
Zeki Müren sings “You’re far away now” on the radio
in a minute they will cut off the song and announce
that military forces are taking control
for the safety and security of the country,
in a minute you will say “I have to go away”
“I can’t come, because the Turkish...”

You have seen this play a thousand times,
but as you are about to wake up
for the first time you will notice a telegram
on the gramophone:

../don’t wake up../wind../
will drop a dry leaf../on your chest
/like news from me./

You’re far away from your country which is in a chaos
I’m alive for now
in love, in doubt and immune to being parted

Translated by Gökçenur Ç. and Robyn Marsack

(More poems by Gökçenur Ç )

A  Poem by Christos Koukis

The empty space

is the well-balanced space

a logical impasse and the last physic refuge

No feelings slips

emptiness doesn't demand nor intervenes

firm against disfigurations, reluctant to challenge you

Silently waits for what exists to breath its last breath

not at all an ungraceful role for such an unreal beauty

Humbly faithful to immobility it doesn't decline ( in value)

its crystal feeling reflects intact memory

In the empty space only peace evolves

if you are in agony, realize it, simply close your eyes and jump

(More Poems by Christos Koukis  )

A Poem by Selahattin Yolgiden


Every One’s God is Inside of the Self

face is the soul of the body Mr. Antoine
that's why we gaze at each other
that's why our eyes are on our faces

don’t believe to any one
who says time heals all wounds
because in the houses with night lamps,
on the deserted shores of winter,
in the innermost
mostly we killed the time
and something dead can’t be a medicine

we forgot and we remembered again
we built ourselves temples of lies
we believed their divinity
every one’s own self is his prophet
every one’s god is inside of the self

every one’s own self is only for himself…

Translated by Gökçenur Ç.

(More Poems by Selahattin Yolgiden  )

A Poem by Yolanda Castaño



Off in the distance the rain
stains the clouds.
This map is true for balladeers.

I can’t wait to go and my car is a good soldier,
can you hear its sweet cargo whistle?
The old roads open up
like a ruled notebook,
how I’d love to score the mountains like a sales
rep my case full of poems

My car’s a silver bullet burning with rhythm
instead of gunpowder and I shout “Vamos!”
Together we bear down on valleys,
civil servant suburbs and those huge windmills
urge me on to face the giants.
We get each other, my car and me
– no words needed.
White lillies of paracetemol,
my car’s a soldier
and I say “Let’s go read poems
in Monforte de Lemos!”,
and his engine
hums along to my tune;
and sings
even though he’s got

( More poems by Yolanda Castaño)

A Poem by  Zhao Fan

Terrorist attacks killed more than 30 people
Shot down more than 60 thugs
Ebola took more than 700 West-African lives
Chemical accidents in Taiwan and Kunshan
Each annihilated dozens of living
The death of today at 4:30 PM is close at hand
Authoritative release: earthquake caused the death toll to rise to 221
People have to perform the symbol of hands clasped together
Wish the number of death would stop here
Nature treats creation like sacrificial straw-dogs
I was shocked that by the understanding of death was
Limited to numbers only

( More poems by Zhao Fan )

A Poem by Frank  Kaiser

it feels like I’ve fallen into the hands of rabid
democrats, dutiful people like us
who work weekends and have no wish
to take part in the war of each against all
but I’m in Brussels
I do what I like doing
and sometimes get paid for it
the new work ethics is not spiteful
being worn out has consequences
existence means survival and sincerity is a form
of disillusioned luxury
the left has become stupid
and nothing can be achieved
without European backing
so we set up meetings and these lead to other meetings
how can we organize each other?
I’ll never say this again and after that I’m free
the perfect storm is a shower
in the united Colours of Benneton

(More poems by Frank Kaiser)

A Poem by Gihan Omar


I Am Not a Whole Garden

Like a flower
I let the bees rest on my face.
I feel their nimble feet
Crowding my cheek.
I stop,
Avoid any command
To my body:
Only celebrate that moment
In silence.
I watch it
Crawling down to my neck.
They sting me;
With kindness they suck my nectar.
I hide behind their violent desires.
I like my eyes now
Their movements confirm my existence
And allow me to see more
Of their comings…longings;
The boldest of them
Slide into a narrower passage
Between my breasts.

At night,
I sneak to the kitchen:
Open a jar of honey
With hidden pride,
Fill a teaspoon
And started to taste myself.


My firewall
Is defunct
My immune system has conked out

Anyone can hack me
Decrypt my secrets

I have become stark naked,
Exposed to the world
You will change my password tomorrow

Nothing will remain
Which can be called my own


We will unremittingly send you
The wooden horses of words
For Helen
The onslaught of millions of Raktavirya genetic codes
From their bellies
Will reduce your system to ashes


I want to erase
My fingerprints from the moon
Tea-stains on the sun
The lines on the hand
From my joystick
The unascertainable look
In the eyes of a hunchback computer
And other such traces of my being

Zipping and attaching
To my last email
I want to bombard thousands of unknown IDs
With my viruses
Of the Unbeing, Inauspicious and the Ugly

Because in the loss of thousands
Of unknown people
Lies my gain


( More poems by Gihan Omar)

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