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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=458797" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Snow Sweet</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">the woman was walking<br>perhaps she was a grand mother<br>very old and old old old and ancient<br>like a walking monument<br>there left a bit of her femininity<br>her breasts<br>like long flat oven loaves of bread<br>towards the gravity<br>she tries to be ottoman<br>as she could be<br>and the years<br>nestled in her whitening hair<br>very difficult to weave or plait<br>a rough walking stick in her hand<br>hatred tapping on the ground<br>was shr walking<br>or the walking stick<br>one of her eyes<br>covered with a white stain<br>seeing clearly is in vain<br>a present from her mother in law<br>jealous of her son<br>when weaving a carpet<br>she was remembering her days<br>on horse ride<br>told a love story<br>her grand daughters gigled and laughed<br>never understood<br>sometimes she us of the<br>hard and harsh days<br>during the liberation battle against the greeks<br>invading our country<br>and of my father asa a veteran officer<br>returning from a long war<br>arabs killing turks<br>evoked by lawrence of arabia<br>who reached every area<br>she said<br>the trains whistled strangely and prosperously<br>when greeks retreated and defeated in our country<br>who were swept to the mediterranean sea<br>ytes those were the harsh and hard days<br>she had ever seen<br>she was very old<br>was it a garment<br>or an old and torn cloth she wore<br>nobody could guess any more<br>eas she walking <br>or the walking stick nobody understood<br>years on her piled <br>she was at the edge of death<br>her only last wish<br>to&#305; taste the snow sweet<br>she loved the best<br>but nobody bothered to mix the snow<br>and the teacle for her<br>she had also small jack knife<br>just to peel the apples<br>she liked the apples too<br>but her teeth cannot bite<br>one evening<br>on a cold very cold winter day<br>she left this world<br>in a cold and desolate room<br>swearing everthing to all<br>shivering and alone<br>with white snow in her hands<br>and mouth<br>near the window pane<br>and in vain<br>they told me that<br>what a pity she was my auntie<br>I could notf appreciate and knew value<br>unless she died<br>she used to call my mother <br>our bride<br>honest to say<br>our bride looked after her very well<br>sometimes jealousy covered my soul<br>what a pity<br>one day<br>our bride too fled to infinity<br>like a bridal falling on trees on a cold winter day<br>both of them are I think now in heaven really<br>our bride mother and my old auntie<br>where who knows<br>looking well after each other<br>I wish I were there<br>who will look after me when I die<br>I wonder<br>If there were snow sweet there<br>If there is<br>I tooo wonder <br>who will<br>mix the snow and the treacle<br>to make snow sweet there</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Metin+Sahin">Metin Sahin</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=458797" data-title="Snow Sweet de Metin Sahin" data-description="the woman was walking
perhaps she was a grand mother
very old and old old old and ancient
like a walking monument
there left a bit of her femininity
her breasts
like long flat oven loaves of bread
towards the gravity
she tries to be ottoman
as she..."></div>
</div>
</div>