I’d write about sisters,
but what do I know about them?
The poet, the voice, the
muse that nuzzles in my soul cannot speak of her,
cannot think of her, cannot envision her in my waking dreams.
Or of the way we would
have sat on dirty porches
and washed out sidewalks sipping on cardamom tea.
Or the way we would have
laughed at the men that drove by and of
the children that hid between tall
trees, playing hide and seek.
Or of the way the first rain
would have pounded on cement roads giving rise to the
smoke and dancing debris.
I’m sure we would have laughed hysterically,
rubbing shoulders and bruised knees.
I’m sure we would have loved and fought
and wept ferociously, the way sisters
aught to be.
No.You must see. Some things are
best kept closed, between you and me.
Like secrets that never yearned to breath.
Like sadness that lingers,
on the edges of vacant seas
that forget to welcome the zest inside the breeze.
Such things friends can never be.
Such things language will never see.
Such things, I cannot write about, this night,
or hold my heart disclosed for you to see.
Of the way we would have fought,
of the lessons we would have taught,
over whose love is more stronger,
Copyright @ By Author V.S.Atbay
From The Book Epiphany - A Collection of Poems
Publisher - Friesenpress, 2013