Like a diarthrosis,
the smooth head of femur
fitting flawlessly in to acetabulum
moving freely, without the tenderness
is the way it should be,
it’s between us:
you and me.
Like an amphiarthrosis,
the slightly movable intervertebral discs,
surrounded by nucelous pulposus absorbing shock,
crucial for one’s own kinesis, own fitness,
is the way you are to me,
without who I’d be paralyzed,
you are the necessity
I can move on.
Like a synarthrosis,
the cranial sutures in a vertebrate,
so rigid, such limited motion present,
still having some elasticity and compliance,
is the way I feel about us, the way I am,
divulging my feelings, revealing myself,
I am inarticulate with such a potential,
I am joints, I am the “pink girl in love”.
Beril
03/01/10
Poetry is one's break down between the writer's blocks -a failed attempt to get back to sanity
Melancholy inspires my mind
"The chemistry of mind and that of love is different. Mind is cautious. It takes its steps cowardly. "for god's sake, avoid yourself!" it suggests. However, is love like that? The only thing it says: "Leave yourself, let it go!" The mind won't collapse easily. Love instead frazzles itself, it gets devastated. However, treasures are to be found in wrecks. A devastated heart has it all!" (Translated by me from Ask, Elif Safak)
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