cry

It doesn’t show coyness When you are leaving take a look! Your eye lashes are curtains Basil is wet You are crying already Cry… As the Mediterranean is heaving Filling and as filling Your eyes become sea The morning, the evening, yesterday and today Kisses the shores Of the future… Can a dove make its own wound? Bleed? Stance is waiting for the ones who have left for good Which olive leaf the pourings from your eyes should touch? Günsel Djemal ELÜSTÜN 9.2.2014