Ilgin’s Poem

THE CAULDRON

One day a man lit a cauldron

Above the flame of a dragon, not candle,

The wife said it should have plenty of seasoning

So he started adding the materials

He added a lot of water to the cauldron first,

Then he began to wait for the water to boil,

He took out his pipe, lit it with his lighter,

Inkpot smoke added to the steam of the water.

When the tobacco in his pipe was gone, he hummed a song.

He stole the lyrics from one ear and gave it to the other.

He added the melody so that the soup tasted salty.

Words spilled out one by one.

Each carried two syllables, sadness, sorrow and delight.

Then he found a pinch of tears in his pocket,

Added the tears carefully, very carefully,

So that the soup did not turn bitter.

Then he found hope on a shelf,

It sat between fair and square.

He added a lot of it;

Since the bottle had no bottom.

The consistency of the soup improved,

The scent turned red, yellow and purple.

Then his hands reached to up and above,

And he stole the blue from the sky.

But when he added the blue, the soup caught fire.

He immediately grabbed a cloud, dipped it in the sun

Before the cloud grew cold again,

He threw it to the cauldron.

Then he took the white spoon of milk,

He stirred the soup and tasted it.

It was a little bitter, but it was captivating;

One couldn’t help but overindulge.

He took out pots and pans to divide the soup.

But with 3 pans and only 2 hands,

The 3rd pan slipped from his hand.

Until it reached Earth and ground, its melody filled the space.

Sometimes it fell fast, sometimes it fell slow.

The drops that touched the ground sprouted in the soil,

And they bloomed...

The plate kept falling.

The blue hung in the air,

The cloud clung to blue and froze.

And the sun became the light around it.

The syllables fell first, grief, joy, and many more.

Then the tears dripped,

Painted the world a precious red.

And the lastly flew out hope.

It watered the flowers and rained nonstop.

For it was the one that never ended.