Caroline Laurent 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.
DO YOU REMEMBER ME?
Caress the dreams of the innocent child!
Remember how the woman’s hair was caressed, lying in the branches of innocent pigeons
he doesn’t dare to think about his dream
And to those who think how good they are
Understand innocence as they feel it.
Come home when it gets dark, my mom screaming “don’t be late because it’s dark”
i listened to it when i got home
On the way home I think about how to say innocence
Then I threw that thought on the ground and went into the house and saw my mother crying.
It was white, I saw all the dreams in his face and face … and they saw me in them, I wanted to destroy them in the sand … … “
I asked my mother the reason for her sadness in the softest voice as if comforting a Lover.
He replied! Sadness is a white dove that does not come close to the battlefield,” said the son.
stones on the backs of those who did not leave the country
I laughed to ease the sadness. For God’s sake, what plate will they feed a child if they don’t have good hearts like wars in breakups?
I told my mom I’m going too
Remember that wild birds also go for no reason
To places that seem like a gentle breeze for no reason
That’s why my mom said take me with you when you go
As heir to the throne, not for you
I have to sacrifice my freedom to create and come
We are the creators of choices.
And if I’m responsible for my age
Yes I will come with you son
Even though I’m like a poor prayer
Barefoot like the river under the shadows
And even if you fade like lilies in the waters, I’ll go
We fell on the thorny paths that surrounded us
I’m not used to these. Of course I’m not.
As the shadows slowly dissipate… even if life gets used to it
Like I don’t know what it’s like to be in love
Don’t forget son!
This door and back are in the mirror of your heart
Our property, everything we own
behind the door
If stories aren’t told behind doors
The door disappears and can be opened again at any time.
Handkerchiefs that do not belong to us. For lovers are not what we leave at the last minute
Station lights … with treacherous tears on the platform
What we say is the legend of everything that does not belong to us What we should travel without taking anything from our trips
But no one likes to travel, especially at train stations.
everything seeks new places of persecution
And before we go home, think about what we lost for a while son
Look what happened, my heart is still beating, right?
I admire my heart and
to my tears…
On all the beaches that have accumulated the ocean, but are timeless while there is still time.
Turn your back on me, what is this herd?
How sweetly they persuade a wind-loving tree to deceive
Fluid to walk on this endless road with branches and wind
I’m slow and careful until my heart stops
on this endless and endless road
I have nothing to lose but dust…
my ability to enter the poet’s notebook
We all have what makes life worth living in this world:
The sun is like the moon and the rain is like a cloud
to the smell of bread at dawn,
from women to men and children
From the beginning of love
To thorns and straw
from living mothers to fathers
and in memory of the attackers
we’ve been through a lot in the land of fearlessness
I had a girlfriend, I had a house, the flowers got better as they bloomed
in the gardens that don’t make you tremble…
Anyone who doesn’t say a word gets hurt
The air is freezing on me
My boobs are between my fingers.
They caress my cold lungs
They asked the truth, where are you?
I only dreamed with you
I’m here with a stranger on an unfamiliar day
Then I hugged me tightly and I said if I bribe you will you remember me here? Maybe one day, maybe in a short century…
SARCOPHAGUS IN EXILE
They wrote sad poems about sarcophagi.
They decorated every environment with their most miserable dreams.
Then they crushed the vine like mud and offered it to the monks like holy wine.
When the wind blew, they scattered one by one across the desert with their heads drunk.
If I hadn’t followed them, they wouldn’t have known what was going to happen to them and everything would have stuck in dusty memories.
With parakeets perched on the windowsill
It was a little cold outside, the sun was shining, the corners of my shy chest were twisting in pain, I wanted to pull a lock of my hair.
My cries reach the cantor, my soul flows in the unknown river
Lord, what if everything is true and I’m just a reflection, if it’s just a dream?
mirage embroidered beads
Has he ambushed the Valley of the Poppies?
I was silent, you were silent
The buzzing parakeet, the seagulls in search of teal howl.
my bloody red wounds
Confused stars, purple pus wax, melting in the night cries
I dove deep, leaving out the scent of the roses of my being
I want to paint the colors of freedom with blue butterflies on the windowsills.
Two drops of tears fall from an unknown cloud
Or was it all hallucinations?
Ah the sneaky winds ahh the desert storms
The smell of wild acacia shoots
My head falls in a cry of sadness
I blow stolen winds in my smile
I’m going back in winter
Black waters fall into the land of my heart
farewell without season with the tips of my eyelashes
There are those who seek freedom with hope.
And you’re like a valley careless like the wind
Take the hands of those who obey you, even though I’ve been in exile for ages, I won’t have mercy
Let the stars go out, the wind calm down, the voices stop
Let no one know the smell of my skin and other places
I wear the four seasons floating in a geranium-scented prophecy
O Lord, whom created everything and every being, you are the Lord of the supreme soul, I am a shepherd in a green valley enchanted by the scent of basil. I am not capable of future ages.
A deep storm is brewing over my head
I WOULD LIKE TO !
I wish I was the shepherd of the clouds in the sky.
I’d make it rain more and then turn myself into a rainbow
Or if I was a little curly-haired girl sitting on the sidewalk waiting to play with her friends and then I just fell asleep right there.
Or if I were a stone at the edge of the field. If I bathed in the sun and were cleansed by the wind.
Or if I were a letter to someone I love, or if I were a handkerchief that wiped my mother’s tears, I would try to comfort my mother, ‘Mom, my beautiful mother, the smell of basil my mother, I would say don’t cry.
I would kiss your sad eyes.
If I were a dancing gypsy in a floral dress, I would fit all the injured women into my smile.
For example, if I had a house with four walls and every room in the house was mine. Every night I would bring homeless people home and make them sleep at home.
Or if I were the page of an old album, I would gather broken families in one place so that they could live together forever.
Or if I were wheat bread. I wouldn’t starve anyone. I know that hunger and freedom is loneliness
For example, if I were the state of the world, I would embrace the rocks and draw endless lands.
A bag of coal.
Carnation next to it.
I wish I knew the solution.
If I knew when I would come and when I would go, I would not burden myself, I would not be weighed down