Yogurt Drink

Throughout this fatigue, my mute state has quieted my own movements,

given my mind the space to recognize some peculiar people sway in their own way

There's this particular lad,

His dance is one of intrigue,

For fortitude mark his limbs, 

1 percent flesh

90 percent cat

Movements quiet but wise,

His walk is an unrolling whisper with the wind

A past written in cloth parchment fallen from a decree of old,

But preserved by his soul through time

Long before he was born,

Now unfurls with that steady walk unknown

I think so because

This hidden grimace suggests witness that heavy brown book from behind the library's end,

Gated by many other dusty ones,

Its words accessible to few but lived by many

Yes! he moves with the weight of that book behind a body nearly level, 

Marking a rest with truth from the tangible.

Looking down and away at times 

But still at you,

With a drifting state so peculiar.

Cruising hidden assured!

He moves a novice yet I know he's not

And a questioning of the self inspires curiosity.

Once he spoke without thought and sometimes said the wrong things in company

But he kept going 

He is so brave, I think

Something behind the scenes, something behind the scenes

I'm not sure if he knows 

That he glows,

Like nur

This soul from old, 

How bold, how bold

And the metal in that hand is somehow connected 

To that

kıt, kıt, kıt