People,
Used for their beauty,
Then cast aside…
A sea of beauty flows in reverse,
Against the rivers,
Traveling backward
Until no river remains…
Dry, naked,
In the bed of the river…
Can you picture it?
Would you?
Among the forgotten, the ugly,
In the bed of “discretion” …
Time, discarded,
Infinitely, definitely,
Even “Time” gets old and turns ugly…
And you, “My dear,” you say,
Are in the sea of beauty.
Will you come to me?
To the bed of the discarded,
Take my heart and soul,
And make me yours?
Beril Yabar
