It is to democratize our involvement in the world. Go ahead dive it into it.


Dive

It is morning and time
to dive out from the window
onto the lap of people
this is the final sacrifice
of my life; for the sake
of my ego don't tell me
how great and wonderful
I am let me continue
to scrap my knees
build the cathedral of love
shout out when will you
ask if I am Jesus
be stoned by your ignorance
touch the neck of the devil
kiss the walls of the room
I have dug my grave in
cry over the destruction
of my innocent eyes
break your heart for
my sake and yours
dissolve into the nation
that I am
blow over the desert in
search of comfort forever
I know what I want
I want to dive a perfect 10
and cut the water of life
into a million drops
it is morning & time for no rules

By Kerem Durdag


My name is Kerem Durdag (if you want more detailed information, feel free to use the world-wide web to dig out further information and empower the paparazzi) and I am whirling and running for loves that are silent. Husband, father and brother. Executive of several technology companies. Board member of several non-profit and educational institutions. Of Turkish and Pakistani blood. Live in Maine. Always, always, always wanted to be an astronaut.

This website is home to poems. All mine for the moment; six more poets will join over the course of the next several years.





Sort of like a little revolution of the spoken and written word. Spread it around. Buy it, distribute it and make your own.

Revolution

Nurse tell me why have you stuck
an i.v. into my arm which says
"revolution" on the label? Isn't
it enough that my bones have been
shattered by batons harder than the
core of the dreams of children, isn't
is enough for you to touch the
bruises on my flesh where all
the fucking principles I believed in gushed
in torrents of weakness and blood?
Soles of my feet can't carry this
struggle anymore, knuckles in
my hands can't grip a pencil to
protest with anymore, my tongue
has receded into silence after
being electrocuted, and yet Nurse,
Florence Nightingale of this soldier,
this peasant of beliefs, you pump me
with revolution into veins collapsing
under your care. Tell
my sister, I disappeared into memories
just like the way the guru at the
edge of the wall out on the road which
goes by our apartment, said. Nurse,
ask me if I am ready to receive
messages from the millions who have
overdosed on your i.v. Ask me, if I will forget
your mistake for killing me.
Nurse, hear me I say no.
You should have given me an i.v. of peace.


Yes, the poems are for you.

Print them out.

Read. Feel. See. Reakt.

By Kerem Durdag