Her mezar bir bahçedir, her bahçe mezar
Her geçen öğretmendir, öğrenci dahi geçer

Every grave is a garden,
every garden a grave
Every passerby* is a teacher,
even the student passes away

* also "dead person"

A beast with no shape and every shape
Squats vast, unseen, bones piled on bones
Arteries branching, bloodlines entangled
Ravenous, gobbling, succulent, festering
Trillions of mouths,
out of one I call mine
comes this song

Water learns to chase the mountain's wrinkles
The mountain learns the river's wild bends
The sands of time spill from their eternal kiss
The beach learns the shape of my foot
And then, under the ocean's tongue, forgets

I just need to ask ya a coupla questions Mr. Bluesky. Bluesky, is that Polish or somethin? Are ya a Rusky, Bluesky?

Look, we know ya was runnin a numbers racket, we got all the evidence we need. Just tell me the truth and they'll go easier on ya!

Being back in Istanbul and seeing how the wealthy live here has got me thinking about an essay I wrote last year. I'm still fascinated by the question of how wealth and freedom can lead to spiritual poverty. Here it is:

https://hinterlander.substack.com/p/the-sultan-and-the-shepherd