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.
Serpil Devrim / Bizim Anadolu / September 15, 2021
You can be also interested by those news and the articles:
