Something has happened to my poems, friends…
Like birds suddenly taking flight,
I kept waiting, certain they’d return,
But what I feared the most has come to pass.
My ears no longer hear the rhymes,
My eyes no longer see the verses,
Like I said—birds!
My poems have migrated,
Vanished into the distance.
Just the other day, thousands of them,
In chaos and panic,
Were flying in every direction.
Each seemed to scatter on its own,
But then, like synchronized swimmers,
They would come together, then part again.
A line comes to mind,
Then slips away.
Suddenly, hundreds of letters gather,
Ready to arrange themselves into verse,
But before they can, they vanish again!
The letters refuse to form syllables.
Sometimes they tease me—
Becoming a whole poem—
Only to say, “Got you!”
And disappear all at once.
I feel like a painter,
Who sees the perfect image in their mind’s eye for a fleeting second,
But spends years unable to bring it to the canvas.
That’s where I am now…
If they ever return, I’ll let you know.
Beril Yabar