Laurent Caroline Turunc (Turkey – France)

Laurent Caroline Turunc                (Turkey – France)

 
Laurent comes originally from a Turkish family with Arab heritage living in Antakya, and she is the 9″ child of this family. She completed her primary and secondary education in Antakya. She started writing at the age of 15. She had written her first novel around this age. Yet, as a result of an unfortunate event, only one night before here novel was going to be sent for publication, her elder brother and mother tore her novel apart. Although this incident made her sad, it did not prevent her from writing again in the coming years. From 2013 on she wrote 1000 poems in total, and she appeared in three anthologies. She published her two poetry collections entitled “In Between the Orient and Shamal” and “Desert Rose”. She lives in Paris.
 
Email: Carolineturunc@yahoo.com
 
 
 
Poems by Laurent Caroline Turunc
 
 
THE SONG OF THE NIGHT
 
My branches were cut as if they were lying down to form a cross
My dreams sag if I flinch
My breath falls to the ground if I speak
I wanna pull myself up, touch the sun, pick up the scattered wind
My kneaded body is offered to God’s table
Like white bread
Gnawed by fear mixed with absolute peace
And I cry without a single tear falling from my eyes
To himself and to those who are not him
And do not think that your power over my branches will last forever
I haven’t used all my laughs yet
I contemplate your desires through the song that falls in the night
Too much affection, in front of pain
Me, I am like a river that lets itself flow to God
I suddenly erase the sadness, there by my love of God
You, you burn in the fire that you made sacred
The sacred fire at the divine tables that the wind scatters in the distance
Your roots will break without them being able to penetrate to the greatest depths
Without them being able to hold on to the earth.
 
GET UP AND DRESS UP
 
Don’t think about the day that is still included in the next day
Don’t think about tomorrow if you don’t know it will come
You would upset the tears in your eyes
Are hurt the rectitudes that would go into error
Beneficial melodies are hurt, those who love you are hurt
Open your curtain to see what’s behind
Time flies like lightning while you’re still in bed
Get up now and put on your shirt
Water must flow from the face in flood for the bread
You must burn in the heat of the desert
Before the sun at its zenith restricts his skills
Time is the snake and you are a dot in a sentence.
Get up now leave this disappointment
This apathy each quenched his thirst in this bowl
It seems that you have made your soul a home and the camels an inn!
The quality of Noah was patience and his ship the sea
When Moses’ mother threw him into the sea
She said my God with the words of the Creator
You too get up hold on to the vessel of patience
Take away the stupid child that dwells in you
Well the heaviest worker was the hawk of the land
When Soliman was remembered
 
MY DESERT NANSOOK
 
I accumulate your voice which is absolutely necessary to me
Your fingerprints that show the clarity of the future
Colors that mix green and yellow
Your heart is like a fragile bunch of grapes.
I accumulate between the Orient and Dahoul
Your shadows imprinted on the sun
Your heels that marked the bed of the river
Your laughter reflected in the eyes
A heart distance between you and the temple if you think about it,
Game of hope, face of silence, turn of morals
A handful of rain on my heart
Letter that makes me turn my tongue
My heart that burns in my desert nansook
First teacher in an invented world
Woman who makes the collapsed imagination straighten up
Child elder sister wife mother
The door I came out of to go aimlessly
My bed where I lie down in a certain way
Cry, but cry until you understand someone
Bend over to listen to my heart before losing myself.
A sentence that is not opposed to the mother
That you run at the first writing of this sentence
One flower that cannot be smeared by smoke
The greatest poverty
For who are not the only mare in paradise
 

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