Saturday, February 8, 2014

Benim Türk Kardeş

(My Turkish Brother)

The Turks are not a quiet people
they celebrate with cannon boom and beat of drum,
loud music and jingo beat,
big sounds they believe, will frighten what they fear.

They have winds that wander from shade to shade
riffling palms like packs of cards,
venturing inland to conspire
with white-water dreams;
each threading their separate way
through the pine scented hills.

And it is here on Mount Nif,
in the cool breath of our father,
I share thoughts with Mokthar Ahmad,
thoughts that could not be voiced within earshot
or sight, of the village mosque;
thoughts that in my youth we dared not speak
in the shadow of the village steeple,
thoughts that make us brothers.

©Niall OConnor    2013

1 comment:

  1. I can see why 'The Lake' snapped it up. Great imagery Niall, particularly like 'rifling palms like packs of cards'.

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