New Years Eve ~ Nasim Hikmet (March 1956, in exile in Russia) The snow falling hard through the night sparkled in the starlight. There is a house on a street in a city, a wooden house so far away. The child sleeping on the pillow is plump and blond - my son. There are no guests, no one. Poor Istanbul out the window. Shrill whistles screamed outside. Loneliness feels like prison. Munever closed her book and softly cried. There is a house on a street in a city, a wooden house so far away. The snow falling hard through the night sparkled in the starlight. (Especially for: Ike Moroe and other South African comrades who have experienced exile far from home on New Years eve; All those unknown to me throughout the world who are presently experiencing exile far from home; And, Ebru Günay and her comrades who have been in Turkish prisons on countless New Years eves. )
Posted on: Wed, 31 Dec 2014 10:19:24 +0000
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