Face Cloth

At the age when Jesus was crucified,
I find myself nailed to life
by two children holding my hands ‚—
a burden as difficult to bear
as a truck overloaded with breakable goods ‚—
rinsed clean away with the dregs of love.
You think I'm just talking to myself.
But what's always with me
is the face cloth you left behind.
You spoilt our game of hide-and-seek ‚—
you forgot to tell me to come out
from my hiding place.
Each night I go to bed
wishing you were the book I was reading ‚—
the page I'd crease and leave unread
before turning off the lights.
To which you'd reply,
My skin is getting creased.
I'm growing old.
Every step I take
across the desert of your absence,
tears spill from my eyes,
from the waters I have borne on my back.
Far from the shadow of its mate,
the desolate camel dies alone in the desert.
As night descends,
I too turn black.
Stranded on the shore of Salacak,
Kiz Kulesi, Leander's Tower,
looms across the water
like a threat.