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sebnemsanders

Monthly Archives: December 2016

Through The Wings of Time

31 Saturday Dec 2016

Posted by SebnemSanders in Flash Fiction, Uncategorized

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

capturing time, continuity, Eden, melting clocks, mitochondrial DNA, past lives, perpetual motion, quantum, time, time-travel, timelessness

1931_06_the_persistence_of_memory

The Persistence of Memory (Spanish: La persistencia de la memoria; Catalan: La persistència de la memòria) is a 1931 painting by artist Salvador Dalí, and is one of his most recognizable works.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Persistence_of_Memory

 

 

This is a re-post of a flash story first published on the Harper Collins, Authonomy Blog.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, Everyone!

 

 

One second more or less, will that make me richer or poorer in time? Yet, I happen to know decisions made in a split second, or perhaps, an incident that could occur in that time frame have the power to change  everything. I try so hard to capture or speed up time, but it has its own pace despite my wishes.

So, I dip into time and try to exercise timelessness. Schrodinger’s Cat in my mind, I go to places my limited intelligence cannot comprehend. The heart does, and gives me directions into my past lives beyond my current third dimensional reality.

I’m a pagan girl at a time not recorded in history. I go to Göbeklitepe and dance to the tune of songs, sung by the pilgrims who come to the temple to worship nature, its flora and fauna. Surrounded by huge columns, with birds and animals carved into their ancient stones, I make offerings to the Gods and thank them for my blessings. A soldier takes my hand, puts a wreath of flowers on my head. We leave the temple and he takes me to his tent in the nearby hills.

Time changes. I’m in Africa, by the river Nile, crying tears of sorrow for my beloved Pharaoh. He has been taken ill and my life is at a standstill. All the medicines in the world cannot cure his ailment. They have poisoned him. There’s no antidote. His child in my belly, the heir to be born. I’m their next target, once my beloved is gone. I cannot leave him on his own and run away yet, but I know a nomad village where my child and I will be safe.

I delve into Ramayana, in the temples of Bali, and run to the sea where I wash my soul. I go to India and swim with my friends in the waters of Ganges, continue to Nepal and become the lady who ages as she descends the mountain in The Lost Horizon.

A courtesan in the Ming court. A Japanese geisha in love with Shogun. An Aborigine girl around Ayer’s Rock. A Maui singer in the Pacific, and a Polynesian who falls in love with a white man in Tahiti. I move on to the Island of Maui and see the volcano erupt in Hawaii. Many perish, but I’m saved by the fishermen. I make my way to the Americas.

Inca, Aztec and Maya, I play ball in the courts of Chichen Itza. I move down south to Bolivia and Peru, and let the wise people guide me through their knowledge and magic revealed in the books of Castaneda.

I go on to Europe, move in the courts of Arthur, Ferdinand and Napoleon. Sometimes I’m a slave, sometimes a heretic they must burn, a princess, a courtesan, a peasant, a revolutionary or an ordinary wife, struggling to raise a family. My Harem days in the Ottoman Court, come with a big return. I’m the mother of the Sultan’s second heir to the throne.

Does time whisk me back or thrust me forward? In Eden, I meet my great, great, and I don’t know how many times great, Grandmother sitting under the apple tree. She’s weeping, but there’s still love in her heart for me because I’m her great, great, and I don’t know how many times great, Granddaughter. The invisible ties of my mother’s mitochondrial DNA bring me to my origins. She hugs me and I fall asleep, weary of my travels.

I wake before my alarm-clock goes off. I rise and look in the mirror. I see so many faces I do not know. I blink and rub my eyes. They disappear. I watch my reflection watching me, and ask, “Who am I?”

 

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RIP, George Michael. :(

26 Monday Dec 2016

Posted by SebnemSanders in Fellow Writers

≈ Leave a comment

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1PuJb-blp8

george-michael

George Michael – Praying For Time Lyrics

These are the days of the open hand
They will not be the last
Look around now
These are the days of the beggars and the choosers
This is the year of the hungry man
Whose place is in the past
Hand in hand with ignorance
And legitimate excuses
The rich declare themselves poor
And most of us are not sure
If we have too much
But we’ll take our chances
Because god’s stopped keeping score
I guess somewhere along the way
He must have let us all out to play
Turned his back and all god’s children
Crept out the back door
And it’s hard to love, there’s so much to hate
Hanging on to hope
When there is no hope to speak of
And the wounded skies above say it’s much too late
Well maybe we should all be praying for time
These are the days of the empty hand
Oh you hold on to what you can
And charity is a coat you wear twice a year
This is the year of the guilty man
Your television takes a stand
And you find that what was over there is over here 

So you scream from behind your door
Say “what’s mine is mine and not yours”
I may have too much but i’ll take my chances
Because god’s stopped keeping score
And you cling to the things they sold you
Did you cover your eyes when they told you

That he can’t come back
Because he has no children to come back for

It’s hard to love there’s so much to hate
Hanging on to hope when there is no hope to speak of
And the wounded skies above say it’s much too late
So maybe we should all be praying for time

Songwriters: MICHAEL, GEORGE
Praying For Time lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.

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Happy Winter Solstice, Season’s Greetings and Happy New Year! The Pomegranate Tree

21 Wednesday Dec 2016

Posted by SebnemSanders in Flash Poesy

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

abundance, coloured ribbons, crimsom blossoms, Gaia, gift of nature, happiness, health, mother nature, New Year's Eve, nourishment, oneness, peace, pomegranate tree, prosperity, red globes, ruby seeds, Season's Greetings

pomegranate_tree-418x415

The Pomegranate Tree

The crimson blossoms of

the pomegranate tree in springtime,

turn into magical red globes during summer,

giving us ample fruit with sparkling ruby seeds inside.

A treasure within a treasure,

a chest within a chest,

one that contains many,

each seed from the heavens,

a sacred gift of Mother Nature,

heralding prosperity, nourishment, and health.

Let’s tie many coloured ribbons on the tree of plenty

and make wishes for happiness, peace and oneness.

Although Saint Nicholas has his home in these lands,

he’s busy carrying gifts to other children around the world,

but will be here on the 31st to celebrate

New Year’s Eve.

Let’s hope our tree will attract

 the birds and creatures upon Gaia and

when the gathering is complete,

with a full audience,

we’ll crack the pomegranates on the ground,

spreading prosperity around the globe,

to all the children and people of the world.

pomegranate-tree-2

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Purgatory and Hell

18 Sunday Dec 2016

Posted by SebnemSanders in Flash Poesy, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

confusion, despair, endurance, grief, Heaven, Hell, hope, mayhem, new year, old year, pain, Purgatory, super moon, survival, welfare of mankind

heaven-purgatory-and-hell

Ione Citrin

“Heaven Purgatory Hell” (acrylic on canvas, 36″ x 36″ x 1″)

 

 

I’m between purgatory and hell

with so many sad stories to tell

I look for joy and good tidings,

all I get is grief and tears

in a world rocked by fears,

uncertainty and mayhem

A New Year is about to begin,

the last super moon

of the departing one

has already graced our skies

Is it too much to ask

for hope and welfare of mankind

despite the odds?

to ignore the hell, briefly,

and hold on to the purgatory,

a little longer,

to endure the pain

and try to survive?

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Selma of Soghut

13 Tuesday Dec 2016

Posted by SebnemSanders in Flash Fiction

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

cat, fishing village, loneliness, loss, love, octopus, Söğüt(Soghut), sleeping partners, stories, The Aegean, the sea, weeping willow

sogut-3

 

 

 

Soghut, a pretty seaside village on the eastern coast of the Southern Aegean, beguiles newcomers with its stunning views of the islands in the cove, and Symi in the background.

A well-kept secret, with exquisite villas on the hills, it had been recently featured in Exclusive Escapes.  The article gushed:  the unspoilt beauty of its shoreline boasts of a small restaurant called The Octopus Man, renowned internationally for Ali’s unique recipe.

 

I met Selma during a walk on the pebble beach after my first scrumptious grilled octopus lunch at Ali’s. An old woman with striking blue eyes, a small, upturned nose and delicate features on her weathered face. In a printed dress that swayed with the warm breeze and a white scarf wrapped around her frizzy, grey locks, she greeted me with a toothy smile.

 

“Hello, are you visiting?”

 

“My first time here, but I love your village.” I smiled in return, and gazed at the seascape.

 

“I came here as a bride. I’m from Bozburun.”

 

“I’ve been there.  It’s very close.”

 

“It was love at first sight. One look, and we were enamoured for life. That’s until he left.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“He was lost at sea. Told him not to go out that day. He didn’t listen.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I miss him. My house is down there, by the sea. Come visit me next time you’re here.”

 

***

 

The following summer I drove to Soghut again, and walked to her house to see if she was around. She was sitting in a wheel-chair under the canopy of her patio, stroking the fur of a gorgeous golden cat lying next to her.

 

“Hi, Selma, do you remember me?”

 

“Come closer, my sight is not very good, lately. It’s too bright out there.”

 

I stepped inside and sat on a chair, looking into her clouded blue eyes.

 

She pointed a crooked, arthritic finger at me. “Oh, yes, you’re the lady from Istanbul.”

 

“That’s right. Lovely cat you have.”

 

“That’s Tonton. He’s been my sleeping partner since my beloved left.”

 

“Pets are great company, especially if you’re on your own.”

 

“Told him there’d be a storm that day, but as they say, if you love someone, set them free.”

 

“I know. Sad …”

 

The table next to her was stocked with her immediate needs. A bottle of water, a glass, some food and a roll of paper towel. My gaze returned to the wheelchair.

 

She pointed at her legs. “Arthritis, very painful these days. I can move a little, but with difficulty.”

 

“Your children, are they here?”

 

“All in the big city. They want to take me there, but I don’t want to go.”

 

“Maybe you should. Isn’t it hard on your own here?”

 

“I can’t leave. They never found him, you know. Just the boat, washed up on the rocks. He’s out there somewhere. Besides, I have many sons and daughters here. Ali brings me food every day. The women help me and I entertain their children, telling them stories. That’s how village folk are. ”

 

“What stories do you tell them?”

 

“About life in the village. Their favourite is Ali’s tale. How he was stranded on the rocks with a sinking boat, a huge octopus he’d just caught, a supply of lemons and some vegetables, and came up with his famous recipe. When the fishermen rescued him and brought him to the village, he kissed the ground, and opened the restaurant to honour the octopus that provided him with food for many desperate days.”

 

“I read the story on his website. It’s curious how necessity is the mother of invention.”

 

“My beloved sometimes visits me at night. I say, take me with you, but he keeps saying, Not yet. Then I wake up, and watch the stars and the moon, my other sleep partners in the night. I wish he’d hurry up and steal me away, and take me into that world of his.“

 

The golden cat with amber eyes purred and jumped on her lap, surrendering  to her caress.

 

***

 

The next time I was in Soghut, I asked Ali how she was.

 

”She’s gone. Back to her beloved, I hope.“

 

”I’m sorry. I was hoping to see her again.“

 

“The cat, Tonton, is also gone. I was going to adopt him, but he hasn’t been seen since the day she passed away.“

 

”Sometimes cats are like that. They just disappear.“

 

”Her children put the house up for sale. They’ll make a fortune. Prime position on the beach with a big garden at the back.”

 

 

 

A knot in my throat, I walked to her house and peeked at the empty corner on the patio where she had sat last year. I passed the For Sale sign and ambled to the back of the house to see her garden. A spacious patch of land with walnut and almond trees, and to the left a magnificent weeping willow by a small creek that ran to the sea.

 

Soghut (Söğüt) means weeping willow. Weeping willow, weeping widow. For a moment I pondered the meaning behind this. It’s graceful branches, leaning towards the water and the water reaching the sea.  Perhaps, like Selma.

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Rest in peace, Greg Lake. I’ll miss you! :(

09 Friday Dec 2016

Posted by SebnemSanders in Fellow Writers

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

ELP, Greg Lake, love, RIP

“Lend Your Love To Me Tonight”

Lend your love to me tonight
Don’t ask me who or what is right
I have no strength I cannot fight
Just flood my darkness with your light
I need no face I need no name
No martyr’s artificial shame
No crucifix I am not lame
And yet I ache to feel the flame
Arrest the sun and shoot the moon
The lamp of laughter dies too soon
To live reflected in a spoon
Makes it too hard to stay in tune
Believe meUnlock the door and unbar the gate
I’ll write I love you on the slate
And while St. Peter’s thieves debate
The price of time I will not wait
Or let the star blind road of fate
Confuse me
Abuse me
Misuse me

Release my soul release my eyes
A clock unwinds a flower dies
Dishonesty disqualifies
You win the race but lose the prize
A tattered cloak behind the throne
It is unseen it is not known
Behind this face I am alone
I would give everything I own
To touch you…

Just lend your love to me once more
Don’t ask me what I came back for
Just watch the moonlight cross the floor
And as your blood begins to roar
You’ll feel your senses spin and soar
You will become my meteor
Divine and universal whore
Complete me

 

 

 

 

 

“Closer To Believing”

I am closer to believing
Than I ever was before
On the crest of this elation
Must I crash upon the shore
And with the driftwood of acquaintance
Light the fire to love once more
I am wind blown…I am times

To be closer to believing
To be just a breath away
On the death of inspiration
I would buy back yesterday
But there’s no crueller illusion
There’s no sharper coin to pay
As I reach out… It slips away

From the opium of custom
To the ledges of extremes
Don’t believe it till you’ve held it
Life is seldom what it seems
But lay your heart upon the table
And in the shuffling of dreams
Remember who on earth you are

I need me
You need you
We want us

But of course you know I love you
Or what else am I here for
Only you not face to face
But side by side for evermore
And I need to be here with you
For without you what am I
Just another fool out searching
For some heaven in the sky
Take me closer to believing
Take me forward lead me on
Through collision and confusion
While there’s life beneath the sun
You are the reason I continue
So near for so long
So close yet so far away

I need me
You need you
We want us to live forever
So don’t let the curtain fall
Measure after measure
Of writing on the wall
That burns so brightly
It blinds us all

I need me
You need you
We want us to be together
On Sundays in the rain
Closer than forever
Against or with the grain
To ride the storms of love again

So be closer to believing
Though your world is torn apart
For a moment changes all things
And to end is but to start
And if your journey’s unrewarded
May your God lift up your heart
You are windblown
But you are mine

ELP Lyrics

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Goodbye

03 Saturday Dec 2016

Posted by SebnemSanders in Fellow Writers, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

A very powerful story from The Drabble. 🙂

woman-994744_1280

By Mentalist at Work

I can’t recall our first kiss
but I remember our last.

You tasted of coffee and toothpaste.

I murmured goodbye,
still naked, bleary eyed.

You let yourself out and drove back
to your work
your wife
your life.

I fell asleep and didn’t dream
of anything.

View original post

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A Wedding and …

03 Saturday Dec 2016

Posted by SebnemSanders in Flash Fiction, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

burial, drabble, dreams, riverofblood, streetwedding, suicidebomber, sunscorchedearth, the innocent, wedding

explosion

 

 

A veil misting her hazel eyes lined with kohl, the bride smiled into the mirror reflecting her white dress of purity.

Palms covered in henna for good luck, she walked with her father towards her beloved.

The street wedding was exactly as she had dreamt of until a blast rocked the earth, muffling the music from the pipe and drums. A big ball of fire blurred the moon and the stars.

Children screamed as a river of blood ran down the street. It reached the cemetery of sun scorched soil, awaiting the burial of the innocent.

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