{random poetry #131}
the rhythm
It is all a rhythm,
from the shutting
door, to the window
opening,
the seasons, the sun's
light, the moon,
the oceans, the
growing of things,
the mind in men
personal, recurring
in them again,
thinking the end
is not the end, the
time returning,
themselves dead but
someone else coming.
If in death I am dead,
then in life also
dying, dying...
And the women cry and die.
The little children
grown only to old men.
The grass dries,
the force goes.
But is met by another
returning, oh not mine,
not mine, and
in turn dies.
The rhythm which projects
from itself continuity
bending all to its force
from window to door,
from ceiling to floor,
light at the opening,
dark at the closing.
C. Robert (1926-2005)
{random poetry #130}
Özgür Baba - Dertli Dolap
Water-wheel, why do you moan?
For I've troubles, I moan.
I fell in love with the lord,
That is why I moan.
My name is troubled water-wheel,
My water flows pure,
Thus, as the Lord wishes,
For I've troubles, I moan.
They found me on a mountain,
They broke my arms and wings,
They found me fit for a water-wheel,
For I've troubles, I moan.
I'm a tree of a mountain,
Neither sweet, nor bitter,
I'm thankful to the Lord,
For I've troubles, I moan.
They cut off my branches,
Destroyed all my order,
Yet, I'm an unwearied poet,
For I've troubles, I moan.
I take my water from below,
I turn and pour it high,
See what i suffer from,
For I've troubles, I moan.
Yunus, comes and finds no joy here,
The tree will never grow,
No one remains in this mortal world,
For I've troubles. I moan.
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