If there were no war, no gore, but just the flavor of soldier’s green,
If there were no looking away from real poverty or the poor but amble about in tatters,
If the philosopher who said “your conceit flows through the tears in your clothes” lacked a sharp eye,
If the profit reaped from elaborated clutter and fleeting beggary were stored up somewhere,
If those who become majestic under the epaulet were made to look upon the majestic of the past,
If those who kept striking back were told they were to be fed on and off
If whoever sprints to the front were to suddenly turn back,
If they were to see their own likenesses, their high aims, the oldest in the front, still fleeing, still seeking.
Şule Gürbüz
°
Harp darp olmasa da asker yeşilinin tadı çıksa,
gerçek fakirlik ve fakirden baş çeviriş olmasa da üst baş lime lime gezilse,
“elbisenin yırtıklarından kibrin akıyor “ diyen filozofun keskin gözü olmasa da
Özenilmiş dağınıklık ve geçici fukaralıkların hasatından gelen kâr bir yerde depolansa,
Apoletin altında heybetlenenlere geçmiş heybetliler seyrettirilse,
Dönüp dönüp vuranlara durup durup yiyecekleri söylense,
Hızla öne koşan birden geri dönse
Kendi benzerlerini, en eskisi en önde uzun emellerini hala kaçıyor, kovalıyor görse.
Şule Gürbüz
°
Unireform (Ünireforma), 2016. Mixed media, 155×45 cm. “Timeless Palace Museum” @SPOT Production Fund, Istanbul, TR.
Photo © Dağhan Gürkanlar