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Writer's pictureDuru Gungor

This Little Home in The Dark

it's enough that I

be this small, just big enough

to fit this one word


counting with fingers

like a child learning numbers

I write in the dark

© Duru Gungor

this chirpy morning

no room left for poetry

from the rain and green


the little fountain

that came to me in a box

now has a green soul


heaven forgive me

if I step between a man

and his barbecue


so you can relax

this is how it's gonna be

alive and then dead


a lot of blank space

on a grave stone, emblematic

of all that wasn't


how lovely to find

the asphalt's skin glistening

in a quiet rain


things we rarely do

like writing without seeing

in a moonlit room


the art of living

in the playback of the lived

with a splintered heart


it's a choice, really

to say rocks are rocks, the sun

a dead rock burning


the song of tadpoles,

with my eyes closed, draws a knife

over the seen green


summer afternoon

faces blossoming softly

on the white ceiling


as I sit waiting

for the evening star, I hear

bells in the green sky


I wish my silence

could speak as well as the eyes

of little creatures


how wondrously strange

this little home in the dark

if I just don't sleep


soft rain in the morn

dashing to the balcony

to rescue cushions


summer morning rain

pink cushions helpless outside

yet such a fine bed


playful skies tonight

islands, high fives, goddesses

in the lilac veils


and then finally

alone with the kind-eyed moon

in my quiet room


midsummer morning

putting my head on her lap

is the ripe clouds' gift

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