How much of flight is wind, how much the bird?
How much the stubborn call of freedom?
Branches follow the logic of light
and the natural miracle of reaching.
We must reach out. What do leaves think,
occupied with the green business of living?
They feel the tug of nature's simple bridle
and read libraries of weeds. Let us walk
under the oak trees. Let us, too, read their poetry.
There's something the wind knows!
As it opens an ornate page for the bird
in the commanding shadow of its wing.
Page made from the dizzy branch of flying skywards,
from blue's most silent days. A page,
wide, quick-witted, a little capricious,
yet simple, with the stillness of a lake-side.
This is what we called freedom!
The stubborn stars have their gaze fixed on existence.
But let us talk instead of the look of leaves
on the trunk stretched up and on by the patronage of roots,
Let us talk of the abstract and envious volume of time.
I am preoccupied with living. My waiting,
brimming with thirst, is on the side of the birds.
It favours the miracles delivered on the wind.
Look into the pupils of existence!
My poetry is of light and leaves.
My poetry favours hearing the footsteps of freedom.
Stanza 1: Caroline Stockford, Bristol, May 2020
Stanza 2: İlhan Sami Çomak, Silivri Prison, July 2020
Translated by Caroline Stockford