TE16 Turkish Delight

Haydar Ergulen The sorrow of a tree is made of its leaves loves are levelled before the ghazal

The sorrow of the rain, what it murmurs when an orphan falls into its wooden abode

Love’s destiny is like that of a tenant to be homeless is to leave and not settle down to settle down and stay means having no home

Apart from poetry I have no other sorrow

No trains exist in poetry So what is this grief?

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Each new issue from poetry journals is like grief ’s final print run

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You know how, like animals just before they die, one wants to hide away a person needs a place to go hide in love, in childhood, to a mother, in poetry otherwise death would overcome us and we’d die incomplete

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