narrative poetry

My Darling


Burning Man

My Darling 

And this child within;

Sometimes gets trapped in thoughts:

“Wish I knew what his heart was feeling.”

Love is a wilderness that cannot be tamed.

This child within,

 Sometimes dances to his subtle tunes; it seems.

She plays with fire, the same way he plays with words.

This child within,

lives in the present with great respect for the past;

Everybody knows how to walk through fire.

But to recall a burning heart without the flame;

It takes a gypsy’s soul  –

This child within,

Surrendered to her anger, but her rage disappeared,

Before the hour-glass was through.

This child within remembers,

The times she held his hand when he was lost.

She recalls,

The sound of his voice when he said hello.

The touch of his lips . . .  she forgot;

But not the way he held her close.

And, sometimes she recalls,

His promise to protect her.

She also remembers his distrust;

His fear that she might one day disappear.

But most of all, that thing she can’t forget;

How much she still cares.

So you see, with such a past –

There is nothing to forgive,

My Darling.

 

 

Black and White



©Yucel Basoglu

Black & White

 The grandest love story ever told;

Born out of each other; into every form.

Disguised to prevail against each other:

A hidden compass in my heart for your voyage –

Your waking choices, and your sleeping adventures;

And in this world; connected by the mask of time –

He seeks the reflection of all things in majestic balance.

He refers to the ice-burg as a wasted truth;

A mountain that touches the sky; upside down, he claims –

And that same sky on the other side,

Will never touch the sands beneath the oceans of you.

And though you are bound to change,

With every change of every moment –

You are still the same, my Love.

Oh, and how the Sun loved the Moon:

Forever devoted to crossing paths, but never to touch.

And some day I will know; some day in the ink of your thoughts –

And you will paint the darkness in my eyes with the light in yours.

Some day, the pauses between our notes will be soothed by your smile.

For what is music without rest between the melodies of notes?

Oh, how selfish must love become before it turns into hate;

And back into love again . . . but I have nothing to declare.

Some day I will know all the things that were left unsaid.

In laughter, and in cries –

In caress, and in vice –

You are the center of all things.

But in the end,

I may doubt all but one; you were my spark, and I your darkest joy –

– How our world would have been different,

If we could have agreed; at least on that.

 

 – Photograph by ©Yucel Basoglu