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Hang Me With A Rope!

Hang Me With A Rope!

I’m the broken handle of a cup,

If they ask

hang me with a rope!

scar on my face,

trace of lip mark,

hand mark.

 

In a large and small stony field

earth becomes reddish in it’s clay,

my crawling,

my childhood,

my youth.

 

Prayers blown to my ear like a plash of a narrow creek.

Until my soul reaches to it’s destination

It quietly stops and stops I listen.

 

Before Fall falls into the jungle without pouring,

the lakes overlooking to the snowy peaks, self-weeping waterfalls,

hang me with a rope!

 

If water runs to fire and the fire turns into ashes,

and falls down to earth from ashes,

I will leave my soul becoming clay to my soul.

Hang me with a rope!

 

Conflicted with memorized verses,

early birds of the revolting morning,

tear the dark covered, wall-like phantom,

and add to the endless rebellion of my soul!

 

Hang me with a rope!

I’m the broken handle of a cup, If they ask

Scar on my face,

trace of lip mark,

hand mark.

 

serpil1devrim@gmail.com

Serpil Devrim / Bizim Anadolu / September 15, 2021

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