Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

Morning Verses…

Posted: April 28, 2017 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , ,

Hello everyone,

Here are some verses to murder your fears.

morning verses

Have a wonderful creative weekend…


It is 5 minutes to midnight now. I was in my bed, trying to sleep only if I could stop hearing screams of the Judge who was angry and awake in my head.

“No, no…that is not porn…it is not pornographic at all…something isn’t quite right!” No, it is not matter of right and wrong but what is it that is burning my gut in the middle of the night?

“So what is porn Uncle Google,” I asked when I sat at my desk, millions of bugs in my mind, the Judge still staring at me in its back yard.

“Pornography is the portrayal of  sexual subject matter for the purpose of sexual arousal,” answered Wikipedia.

“What does the girl in this image do to cause sexual arousal?” asked the Judge with no gender.

bacak aramda

“Nothing, she seems to have been undressed forcefully…which is why she is looking down with shame,” I replied.

“Exactly! What kind of soul can get sexual arousal from such image?” asked the Judge.

“Oh God!” I exclaimed. The Genderless Judge looked happy…no not because s(he) made me feel sick but s(he) managed to teach.

“Have another close look,” said the genderless judge. And I looked at the image below which was the book cover of my first poetry book.

“Yeah…I mean she is not human is she…she is a robot…and made by a man,” I whispered to myself and looked back at The Genderless Judge.

The Genderless Judge smiled and disappeared.

Now I am asking you, was The Genderless Judge right?

Should I create another cover or should I insist on using this one?

I am going to bed now.

By the way, the content of the book is nowhere near pornography…it is all about gender war…

I am going to talk to the stars in the balcony for a few minutes just to miss my warm bed…otherwise I won’t be able to sleep…unless they say something to oppose The Genderless Judge…Oh God!

Every time I remember my father ,I hold my back  ,but can not hold back  my tears  ,touch my wet cheeks  and feel the pain deep inside .Every time he comes to  my dreams,he  hits me ,sometimes even stabs me and I wake up screaming. I wish I had a father to remember this Sunday .All I remember is violence.

There was a world where I had a father.

I wish he  helped me with my homework or  took me to a park and bought me an ice cream.My meamories with my father are full of  slaps,punches,kicks,shouts  and all my tears and screams.It was impossible to talk to him ,it was my  dream  to hug and have a laugh with him which never came true.He always got angry and lost his control over little things. The word dad had only one meaning  when I was a kid .Violence!

Even so  I always tried  to do things to make him feel proud of me.  I was one of the best students  in all my classes  until the end of my high school years which did not mean anything to him. Iwish   he paid attention and  appreciated my success.I now know that  that made me a dreamer  and a good poet as I had to create my own world ,where I was happy  and  had a good father like other kids, and write about it.

However  my dream world was not enough to escape from his violence.  I had to leave my family after high school graduation and I  never  went back .That was the time when I last saw my dad .I had many words to say but  I kept them in my poetry book. I am sure he had more words than I did ,but none of us told any. Somehow I knew he did not really want to hurt me.It was something else which caused all that ruin that none of us was able to  explain.

I buried him  on my journey to university not to remember all those traumatic memories. Years have passed we did not talk .We both went through good and bad times but we never talked.I am now grown up  and  he is old but we still don’t talk .I still create verses  with the  wreckages of my ruined childhood  and keep all the screams and pain of   those silent years in my poetry book   .

“Your dad was never loved.” ,said my mum ,”He does not know how to love ,even  he feels it ,he can not show .Violence is what he experienced instead of love when he was a child.”,she added when she told me about his childhood . She was right,my dad was in his own prison,he was not  able to show love even he wanted to ,which made him angry.Violence was  my dad’s desperation to show his love and to escape from that prison.

He is now ill and not able to talk  or recognize anybody.I wish I had a father to remember this Sunday. Those who have a good father ,feel lucky and hug him whenever you can, make some time for him in your busy life, make him feel special just like he made you when you were a kid. Talk to him. Say ,you love him while you still can .