Maelstrom

Assists the storm,
this gallant with a piteous heart
at an hour when owls do cry.

Quitting the vessel,
is a cherubin.
Yet on the fresh springs there are figures;
these are devils.

Dashed all to pieces,
is the fine apparition
of the topsail.

Drowning,
we run ourselves aground.
Roaring, shrieking, howling is
the blue-eyed hag on the shore.

Then,
All's hushed.
As midnight.

Once

Floating on the pond was the green lily
Now, it has perished: dissolved in the fumes of industry.

The smell of chocolate filled my home,
Now, I hear all but the sweet scents of the past.

Outside was the hummingbird, singing to the sequoias,
Now the raven lurks in the jungle-like branches of the hawthorn.

The apples were juicy green,
Now, as blue as poison itself are the very stems.

The wind whooshed wildly with the scatter of leaves,
No more do I listen to the hymns of the seeds.

I watched the fishers in the morning, eager to make a living,
Now, no ships, no boats, no sail in the morning.

There was the merry men roaming the streets,
Now, no roaming, no peace.

My thoughts flew freely,
Darkness shadows my muse.

Traveling the mountains was the pack of wolves,
Now, only silent winds whistle through the cliffs.

There was the overflowing waters of the river,
Now, the river banks, arid as the cactus.

I was going home, back to the place that embalmed me in memories,
Now, that home is long gone, into the abyss.

I used to remember,
Now all I see: darkness.

The Fish

Hanging loosely
in the water
along the rocky ground, with his mouth
wide open like a

great
cavern.
When on top
of the steep mountain, disguises
itself from the ever-glowing

rays of sunlight.
The bass with gills of
crystals, slaloms
through the holes:
shimmering on

the surface of the
sea, in the eyes of the on-lookers
like dashing of the gigantic block
of mirror reflecting
the rays of sunlight, which

sparkle and create
like gems of the ancient times.
All the while in the ocean
the current of warmth
move peacefully along.

Remains
of the deepened
polluted sea, reeks of a
body of misuse.
Seeing

this in-
difference of passers-by to
the credibility of the burial of the nature's gifts
with empty looks in their eyes;

neglecting, disinterested and ignoring.
Collection of
nature's myriad of generous offerings, hover
recklessly in
the depths.

The Sea From the Mansion

Only years left until the last breath,

of the nostrils of immense magnitude,

that lie between the whiskers of wisdom

and the eyes of Jupiter.

While submerged in the water,

with the moss-stained lips

which outlines the prison

where arid cacti have long awaited the demise.

And when the cats of march sound in the spring,

loudspeakers the blue whale from the sea, with a ring,

and the eyes like a camera, start to sing.

------------------

'Twas when I was lying in the cold haze of the morning,

outside the mansion, when I heard the disastrous wailing.

Thanks to Ege Tokdemir for his help.