From Didem Madak: "Mist"
I am a dead blue butterfly
I dried my wings
I kissed the belly of a blue marble
I went into all the cloisters, I matured to all secrets.
I died like children without knowing it.
II.
A tailor in the country of mortals
Cutting silk, sewing tinsel to the past
Weaving hair of the years,
Then even the moon will jump on the stage
[S]he will be in pain, but continue tango anyway
Lost photographs would be found suddenly
In the secret holes of life and years.
III.
From prom nights,
People will be drawn out like sharpened knives
At that moment girls look at the boys
Boys who smell like dill.
Rain would not be enough for anyone
Everyone would get wet with other talismans
Ankles of hearts were so thin.
Lips were greek, eyes palikaria
Life insistently hides its dimples
Pedlars sell mirrors no matter what.
He wouldn’t put on after-shave then
His cheeks surprising and tingling
Smelling like eighty degrees lemon cologne
Frayed out,
Cheap life the picture of crying child!
As if time was a blue wool sweater.
PS: The blue butterfly died yesterday
Everything finished in Izmir.
I’m going to Spain.
To write a love letter
and to throw play cards into fire!
Didem MADAK
