The sound of my heart rises in waves and I am filled with hope

The battery of my loneliness is about to run out, my soul must be charged immediately and I must write a poem immediately.

I have to write a village girl, whereas a city girl living in the middle of the city made up a village, I built a village inside me, while a deep well fell into it every night, while the stone thrown by a madman, collecting letters and hitting forty smart people.

Will it work, dude?

You eat, drink, study and work, after a lifetime, come and become addicted to poetry.

Overdose, my blood was poisoned with excess ink, so my blood pressure peaked in the middle of the night.

I will eradicate the oppressor, but I will not give up the oppressed crew.

Curtain rises, the voice of my heart and I pass the day with subtitles.

My figure is mourning.

My edict is moist.

The roads are slippery and the city will probably wake up to snow, of course, I will put on my flannel pajamas, and if I get cold, I will put the flannels on myself before I get cold, and then I will write stories in the consistency of sponge cake and put them in the oven.

This is what happens every night.

If I'm a little late for my muse's appointment, the city rings in my ears, after all, the city and poetry and I are inseparable trio.

I will free a trapped word and draw a picture of poetry, or rather, I will dust the geographies that I could not migrate and make the new day smoke.

Of course the devil and evil and darkness I'm fighting against.

Who knows how many times I won't be defeated in the war that I opened to the windmills on the road and I won't let my eyes open to the darkness?

There's a senseless poem in my stomach

Poems that are endlessly divided inside me,

Poems that we will perish together,

Poems that we will forget together,

poems with no debt

And so the poems that hurt so much.

The pain suddenly subsides as the rain stops,

Sometimes it's just because God wanted it that way.

Maybe I'll just draw a picture in a cave,

In a country where dreams begin with a capital letter,

I have a dead body lifted from me.

Dude is that what you want?

I will fly like a fairy godmother, like a fairy godmother, in my dream of being able to take advantage of even the crumbs of the ukden that remains in me and avenge the past, and mine is a migration alphabet, necessarily catching the ugly and the grudge.

I have to find a few words that are frantic right away.

Did I get rid of the shaking images too?

And did I put a huge exclamation mark at the end of the sentence…

Of course, I am aware that I am deceiving myself, but I will run away from the demon that I killed and brutally murdered my ego and soul, and I will open my wings to a happy life by falling in love with a rich man like an innocent and deplorable poor girl.

Although they do not play the old and black and white classics on television channels.

After all, what is left from the past other than our date of birth?

With the opposing winter wind and I sitting in my comfortable chair, am I bad at dreaming of the expected snow in Istanbul or the poor poor?

After all, I'm not responsible for gas bills, even though I don't have one hand on oil and the other on honey.

Of course, it's too late to dream about the times I worked, after all, did I put the last point and sift my flour when I was young and hang the sieve on the wall?

Oh, sir, what is it?

I couldn't find my dream job because I couldn't find the paradise I was looking for in the business environment...

Something like that.

Surely the market has passed.

It's not like I'm imitated or anything, I'm used to living comfortably, after all, it's debatable whether it's comfortable or not.

I come to myself with the sound of the cursor.

My inner voice, which I have reported, is very ungrateful and how it raises a flag by looking at the words that are on top of it.