İstanbul is a bitch!

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Restless, never satisfied,
Asking more and more.
Tempting,with crooked streets of dark neighbourhoods ending nowhere.
Dancing and whirling like salty waves of Bhosphorus.
Hidden under her translucent veil.
Leaving you dizzy and startled.
A constant whisper in your ear,
Clicking, clanking, hushing, clapping, cursing, horning and roaring.
Seducing parfumes filling your nostrils.
Spicemarket, fish and bread, grilled chestnut, corn on the cob.
Oleasters, linden, jasmin and roses of every kind.
An absent minded mom, her fragile babies left on the curbs.
Hungry hands begging for money.
You have it enough.’That’s it,’ you shout. ‘This time it is the end.’
The next morning, when you open your eyes,
Galata Tower, Hagia Sophia, Golden Horn, the cherry tree, turkish coffee at Bebek, your feet barely touching the sea.
You take a deep breath, ‘Oh, İstanbul is some city.’

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