written May 2018
Part I
Cloudy skies and mild breezes
And big ships hovering to the other side. People smoke and drink and stroll
And Sartre could have been sitting, thinking deeply… in one of those cafes, for sure.
Stirring a spoon through the thick mess of black kahvesi and sugar. As black as his shirt. And as black as depression.
The air feels like dusty waves and opium, and old men’s faces rest in silent melancholy.
And at night all the students meet again. And Kadikoy looks colorful and young and hedonistic.
They meet again, for a long night. For another round of deep strong beer.
But a future there is none.
Part II
Raki as resistance, in a kurdish bar, 4th floor, downtown Istanbul.
We talked about the dynamics of the Middle East – its potential for both good and evil – throbbing with young people
– and when I said
“Europe is dying, literally dying”
His eyes lit up with fire
And it was like the two of us – in a split second –
remembered a continent, and a mode of existence
We do not belong to
Yet carry with us wherever we go
And we envisioned… something beyond it
As the Roman empire falls again
Choking on itself