Snow Sweet
the woman was walking
perhaps she was a grand mother
very old and old old old and ancient
like a walking monument
there left a bit of her femininity
her breasts
like long flat oven loaves of bread
towards the gravity
she tries to be ottoman
as she could be
and the years
nestled in her whitening hair
very difficult to weave or plait
a rough walking stick in her hand
hatred tapping on the ground
was shr walking
or the walking stick
one of her eyes
covered with a white stain
seeing clearly is in vain
a present from her mother in law
jealous of her son
when weaving a carpet
she was remembering her days
on horse ride
told a love story
her grand daughters gigled and laughed
never understood
sometimes she us of the
hard and harsh days
during the liberation battle against the greeks
invading our country
and of my father asa a veteran officer
returning from a long war
arabs killing turks
evoked by lawrence of arabia
who reached every area
she said
the trains whistled strangely and prosperously
when greeks retreated and defeated in our country
who were swept to the mediterranean sea
ytes those were the harsh and hard days
she had ever seen
she was very old
was it a garment
or an old and torn cloth she wore
nobody could guess any more
eas she walking
or the walking stick nobody understood
years on her piled
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poem by Metin Sahin
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