Tuesday, 5 August 2014

2 Poems by Melda Koparan

I Am Lost

The hours pass as if they are nothing
Merely fleeting kisses upon a lover’s
Tear stained cheek;
Cascading in the light,
They are the dew of the waterfall
Glistening upon its rocks.

Whispers on the wind
Float into the dusk

The moon beams
A full smile upon his
Aging complexion

A hopeless visage impaled upon
Lycurgus’ spear.

The world is dark.

I am lost.

No stars can be my compass.
No stars can help me
Navigate these dire straits.
I am lost.


Devastation

Bitter tears that make
Bitter hands write
Bitter words,

As melancholy subdues them,
In ossuaries and sepulchres
That bear the laid to rest, and malnourished carcasses of
What were once exuberant and electric hopes;
Ornately strewn like the rattling bones of the Paris catacombs,
Their spectres loom large.
Haunting sleepless dreamers
Causing ceaseless inner catastrophes.

Turmoil is not curable
It is merely treatable
Its symptoms are cyclical.


In the Hour Before Dreaming and its Aftermath

Listerine breath in soiled sheets.
A cool damp that surrounds me
As all life is sapped,
My lungs perplexed, and
My mind afloat with chatter.
In a mould that multiplies and
Fills the air with a dusty decaying vacuum.
Reason, finally leaves, but only for a little while.
Dreams unravel, and reveal an unspoken, yet
Favourable reality. Wispy mists of exuberant feelings
I attempt to preserve, like butterflies in a killing jar.
But all in vain. But all in vain.
Because, as morning kisses night,
Morning brings with it a new fright.

Bionote

Melda Koparan is twenty-two years old and she resides in New South Wales, Australia. She is a secondary school English and History teacher. Melda's work has been recently published, or is forthcoming in The Tenement Block Review, Stepping Stones Magazine, Eunoia Review, 94 Creations Literary Journal, and ZineWest 2013. Melda enjoys exploring the possibilities offered by creativity, the imagination, and human experiences and emotions.


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