Love
It cannot be told
by drowning someone in false words,
by smothering them in gifts,
by laying red carpets along their path.
Never with splendor—
love is not wrapped in shining paper.
To love
is to sit at the edge of the soul,
without a rope of safety,
with a lamp that gives no light,
and descend into a mysterious well.
To love
is to wander fearlessly
through the hidden chambers of faces
where fragile dawns tremble.
In that dark silence,
to hear what is left unsaid,
to see what mirrors do not reflect,
to become the sun that enlightens hearts
with sincere glances mistaken for faintness.
Even if centuries pass,
though fragile and trembling,
it is the majestic mountain
whose name never changes,
the one you always seek refuge in—
to love.
Tavşancıl, Turkey
Polished Darkness
At an unexpected moment
the world inside you splits open.
You bend toward yourself:
“Life… is this it?”
To die or to diminish, slowly?
Words are a cracked pane of glass,
whispers a rusted door.
And silence— the orphaned pulse
that hits the walls and returns.
I had radiant expectations,
gleaming.
I thought I carried light,
yet the marks of dirty hands
remained on my palms.
Hope buried in the soil
no longer blooms;
there is a civilization rising
by stepping on it.
They call it light.
But it is only a shining display.
With polished lies,
darkness is made up.
And I in this crowded hum
speak by remaining silent.
The rebellion within me
is a fire without a name.
At the bottom of the night, now I understand:
what they call life
is but broken toys flung about
by the filthy hands of the merciless.
About the Author
Dr. Barbaros İrdelmen is a retired medical doctor, writer, poet, and translator based in Istanbul, Turkey. Born in 1952, he is a specialist in internal medicine and nephrology who has published numerous poetry collections and serves on the editorial boards of various literary magazines.
