It doesn’t show coyness
When you are leaving take a look!
Your eye lashes are curtains
Basil is wet
You are crying already
Cry…
As the Mediterranean is heaving
Filling and as filling
Your eyes become sea
The morning, the evening, yesterday and today
Kisses the shores
Of the future…
Can a dove make its own wound?
Bleed?
Stance is waiting for the ones who have left for good
Which olive leaf the pourings from your eyes should touch?

Günsel Djemal ELÜSTÜN 9.2.2014