Like an exhausted giant, the sun was collapsing upon the sad remains of a reign's long diminished splendour, only the seed was eternal.
A woodpecker with a pounding heart kept singing on top of a stone.
The Sultan was gone, all the Sultan's men were long "silenced", but the spike remained.
It remained and it dried out, absorbing the sun's essence.
An everlasting souvenir among the green shoots was the pure poppy.
The thistles were there.
The cormorant was plunging in and out of time's stagnant waters.
Even in the evening, the lake was a wrinkled sheet of bridal pink.
The Sultans were gone and there was no news of the Sultan's men...

Beysehir, July , 1977.

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