Sonnet: Schopenhauer's Pessimism Rears Its Ugly Head
by John Kendall Hawkins
Aboard the ferry to the Golden Horn
you could see the Galata Tower rise
out of the old world. And the smell of corn
on a stick and girls wearing evil eyes.
I sipped rose-coloured çay, let my thoughts waft:
the erosion of confidence over time
Back over Kadiköy, smoke brown and soft.
Schopenhauer's Will tinkled in my mind.
I leaned out over the railing, faded,
when a hijabbed woman, like a blackbird,
leapt up, over, into the sea. Jaded
through the hue. "Help!" she cried. Absurd.
I thought, leaps of faith come in all colors,
over the Kurd's ululating hollers.