I embarked on a solitary two week journey to Turkey last September. Istanbul was bustling, thriving, but not what I was looking for – I could not find peace even in the walls of the Hagia Sophia. My journey ended in the Central Anatolia, in the mountains of Cappadocia in Kayseri.
And in between, comfortably cushioned, I sought refuge for two days in Konya.
I wept next to Shams’ enshrine, without quite knowing why.
Warm wine and baby dumplings
The hills they smiled at me
Did you see?
I could have sworn they smiled at me.
Tolstoy, I wish I knew a Levin in real life
To have intellectual talks with
But when I met intellectual men,
Philosophizing war, glorifying war,
Cigarettes dangling from their fingers
Eyes glazing over at the theories of warfare,
I despised them
And they me-
I had too much personality, and I didn’t like war.
Weeping next to Shams’ tombstone,
وَٱلضُّحَىٰ blurred before my eyes
I couldn’t see the words anymore –
وَٱلَّيْلِ إِذَا سَجَىٰ
But he wasn’t there,
Rumi told me so
“When we are dead; seek not our tombs in the earth, find us in the hearts of men.”
I don’t understand what you say,
I just know I must try.
“I used to read
The myths of love
Now I have become
the mythical lover”