Now sitting on his chair like an old man as if remembering his memories”
Waves push themselves into coasts. Sea is not angry any more.
My heart, that has been in a desert silence, is paining
However; you are crying for your other half.
This passionate old man, every morning, lokks at us in silver blue.
Waiting does not tire two of us.
His one hand holds from this collar, other hands from that collar, calmly.
Our palms get fried in its salt.
Then is standing up from his bed with our shy hands that are bedaubed in grape juice with two dark
“Mediterranean has once been a child.” An old woman is whispering and old line
“I wish you and i meet againIn yellow shadows of mimosa smelling inlets
Our hearts stand up from withinWe make no voice.
Two warriors coming fromnations,
In Mediterranean’s salt, without knowing, two lovers defeated by their sorrow,
I wish we hug, hug like that.
While sands of Phoenicia and Carthage mix to each other,
I wish we cannot besatisfied with each other.
I wish our hands bedaub into Mediterranean’s blue.
I wish we catch fire again.I wish we wake the crazy child in us.
Don’t forget beautiful face child, grand old man;
Mediterranean has once been a child.
It has been kneaded with anger, resistance and love.”
There are boys again more hungry and in love more than each other.
Sailors, bus drivers and boatman who did not start off without listening his story.
They are starting off without listening the about to sink into the water story of a Genoese goldolier.
This is; skydome, wine and sea. They don’t listen love.
If reed columns fall into a clret red sorrow and cry;
This grand world smells Mediterranean from one end to another.
Is this world old? This world is a child.
Don’t forget that Mediterranean has once been a child.
For ages, it has been burned with the fire within.
Exactly like us Like you and me beautiful child.
novembre 5, 2013
novembre 2, 2013
novembre 2, 2013