Not Smelling the Roses

a Poem by: Füsun Atalay ~ Copyright © 1998

Smooth skin stretches
over fine blood vessels
mapping the hand
which offers me the largest bouquet,
of blue and purple roses I’ve never seen before
scattered among
ordinary red, pink, white and yellow ones —
The roses so sharp in my mind, yet the face
hovering above the bouquet fades
with the poignant smell of roses...
only their thorns still sharp in memory.
I recall the feeling
sporadically ~
like connection to cyberspace
that comes
and
goes. . .
and suddenly a
time out error
and the joy
(just when i thought i was connected)
can not be transmitted;
something just froze.
Then colours burst
like fireworks
in shimmering cascades
and spotlight
faces from the past, the present -
some, i have not
even seen before -
They speak out in unison.
i can’t hear what they’re saying...
So i strain
to read their lips
and understand their words.
They try to convey the ultimate
wisdom and truth
while warning.
But, like the unscented roses,
my senses are deceived, beleaguered and
long to find meaning
when my subconscious cognizance
is muffled by their incoherent cries.
Then i know: this is another one
of those plains
where roses can be waltzing-
people can sprout a warning finger ~
and bellow without being heard !


Copyrighted Material ~ Copyright © 1998 All Rights belong to Füsun Atalay