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The
Sweetest Condition
Asli
OMUR
I
could test your language with the supple movement of
a January evening I am 18 and I have nothing to claim
except the sweet red apple of my people I would count
out the beats that swallowed your tongue and learn to
communicate by fingers nothing shall deprive the heart
of blood to carry on and grant warmth to my chest that
stays concave with a dying bird in the center and the
universe is staring at my shoulders bruised red with
the bluntness of wrongful lovers and they gaze at my
lips parted by wrongful killers murdered by those that
I have released myself to and if I could change one
tip of a moment where I was in between your arms and
mouth it would when the morning arose as a
little
girls hair in the wind
And
the rain dripped from clouds that look as my grandmother
with wings and I was washed away from your wrists in
the center of such a down pour
Now
apart from my photographs that somehow were meant to
prove to me that at some time I had such emotions hanging
from my sleeve
But
I tore the ligaments of such a pride and that was the
pinnacle of the sweetest condition to crawl from beneath
my lungs
I am nearly falling off the cliff of a childhood
And
I hold a lover in my pocket near my waist beside my
thigh that bears every word that protrude from your
ears and then I can hear what you heard when you were
as me
The
sweetest condition is sliding off my tongue that knows
only a sunset hovering amidst the water raging with
confession and if I could write it all down that way
that my eyes receive then there would be no use to search
for ones self because our selves are in the waves of
nations and their struggles to comprehend how the sweetest
condition that
the being of a human can overtake is the condition in
which every soul aligns to conviction
then we are no longer human
January
22, 2002
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