Let me tell you of waters today, Of the smell of cut roses in baskets, of my desire to climb the willow tree and of longings that have faded to memories. To tell you how the anger is sown, when my mind plays its broken record, calling Life tripped me up! It went and tripped me up! Where will the sun rise? I want to talk about this and the most simple reasons for crying in the rain. The sky has a strange way of caressing. There is a sound to budding leaves and to forgottenness. The sun will be born from my palm! I want to tell you about this, and of the trembling of the wind that swims over my body. Your body is a tree, each leaf is a poem the curious wind plays every one, and we, on our far islands, hear the music of your news. We measure endings with the setting sun. Ceaseless star that will not stop, pouring gold. Tell me the rain's secrets, on the mountain slopes at a quarter to dawn. I would tell you, too, of the vision of that day, when I saw the horizon rise up, of the inner worlds of patience and possibility, but you know all these better than me. Tell me of your miracles, I'm listening.
First stanza, Ilhan Çomak, Silivri High Security Prison, Istanbul
Second stanza in response, Caroline Stockford, Bristol, UK
These poems are written by postal exchange. Ilhan sent his first 5 stanzas in April 2020
If you are a poet and would like to write with Ilhan in this way, please email email@example.com