Suleyman the Magnificent*
twice bereaved
found solace in poetry for a while
then war
dying in the field
on his thirteenth campaign
tent billowing
in a foreign breeze
forty thousand soldiers praying
in the dawn
breath misting
and when the cannon called
they called for him.
His words live on
his empire’s stanza-ed
into nations
but his grief glides free
every morning
whereever breath
meets air.
*Sultan of the Ottoman Empire 1520-66
Image by Trần Anh Tuấn