Two poems by Bersu Doldur


    Gypsy moth


Taurus Mountains,
the fiery air of Mesopotamia;
she waits for it to caress her.

It doesn’t. The English cousin.
But she’s not entirely.
Nor Kurdish, or Turkish.

A gypsy moth
belongs in no one’s home

with wings that let her
             but she cannot land

on the pistachio tree
nor the Alder -
perhaps the Populus tremula!

A daughter of immigrants
in limbo - cut - in half
carrying the mass of the equator -

             flying nowhere
                        and everywhere.


    Flaws of time


She sits, tied by the burden of her tired limbs
the mould of her muscles loses its shape
like wax, victim of its own flame.
Every summer auntie’s freezer
was bursting with strawberry,
chocolate and blueberry.
Now she is the popsicle
staining the rugs
she can’t wipe
leaving us
with loose
in the
of her



Bersu Doldur

About Bersu Doldur

Bersu attended the King’s Advanced Poetry Workshop in her third year, September to December 2020. She has now joined HSBC’s Global Banking & Markets graduate scheme.