WHITISHES

TESSELLATED NARRATIVE PROSE POETRY

 

 

 

The White Field

My mother said that the wheat field is white and beautiful but I see its birds; they are black. Yes, the wheat spikes have come from the Far East in a white night and had seeded all this glory in our dreams but when I go to our field I don't find white butterflies and all our white colors have traveled toward the gulf. Now you can understand my lost white feelings and you can see all the black colors which cover my smiles.

 

 

White Things

They said: we know everything even the white roses. Yes; your rights are reserved but we know the white places, the white words, and other more hidden white things. We work hard to save our white world, so we know everything about you even the dark side in you. They said: we are in the era of privacy and the time of white love in white nights.  Please tell me: where is that whiteness? And where is that white love?  You don’t find anything but redness and dark corner.

 

The White Land

The icy lands color my life with a white world, but what you can see in my depth is killing blackness. May be the white clothes had been run out. Please don’t steal my dream, and don’t cover my life with an illusionary roars. Yes, my foot is cold, my hand is so short, and you have a nice whitish tongue but the water in my glass is not warm and not white. Here, in my eyes is a white tree, but here, in my heart is a stolen white land.