Look for poems in my pocket.
Search every hole in me,
For a dangerous treacherousness to come hunting you down.
I stand like an envelope of generations , you are as fresh as fear.
Look for whatever all over me,
The threshold between you and me, is the history.
Put your hands all around me, how the snake wants to know the tree.
I claim un-guilty standing in front of you who is made of paper countries and stories
Look for what you have forsaken yourself- a banished diary of your motherland.


Hazal Arda


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