Whispers by Ceren Guler



A poem by Ceren Guler.


You speak to me in whispers. We cry. We try.

We don’t understand where – and why –

we’re going there,

but we do.


My flavor is wind and mud. I can feel it in my toes when

I breathe in your dust. I wish I could lie there

down on the ground where the seeds are bright and bare and blue and brainy,

sparkling light while morning numbs me.


You see, whispers can’t save me now


when all my thoughts are

broken lyre strings that bristle my neck in one cheap trill:

“If only”


If only I could travel your moaning road,

could illuminate the dreams of streets, bands, twigs

and all those pages from once I arose.


But your whispers can’t free me there

all that’s left is morning’s dregs and my burnt bottomed coffee mug which always hangs


Where? Are we going? I need to (without you)

but I fear that inside me the specter-grey will loom and drown my body in a thousand scabs that read ‘I told you’


For if your thoughts were always this cold and bright

then the teeth we moulded were never quite white

And the whispers

they clouded up my eye

And they whispered ‘remember me’