The cries are gone until we come out for long laugh chats

From evening to evening to live, to pass into the night

With our free assets that have nothing...

Hours are wasted though

For the tiredness of untimely departures

In the inconsistencies where so much inconsistency blooms!

To the evenings we were late when we were trying to catch up...

The night is hitting our faces with all its fear

In photographs reflecting a thousand and one languages

We collect ourselves scattered

In our fragile worlds that we think is the only truth

It's night!

Accompanied by poems like bloody nightingales

Another day goes by

Puhao on our feet we hit

And with our lost soul from storm to storm

A fixed self remains;

If there is a stable character in our personality

Most of all, she cries at night for hopes.

It was fiction, it was planned, my sentence was short, its meaning became meaningless, it has reached a place, I am drawing my ropes here and announcing the end of my captivity, instead of embracing those who are on the way while I am about to arrive. My interest inliterature is as weak as my interest in life. While it can be seen that I am not a storyteller, I am not a poet at all, I learned what to say, how to start the day, how to continue, from those who scarcely manage their minds and stomachs. One of them, my parent, who had a secondary role in my upbringing, is the cause of my pain, sadness, longing, anger, and some deprivation of life, surrounded by me, even if I close my mouth a little, even if I pinch my nose for a moment. Like a captain snapping at all passengers, like a cat rummaging through the ball, every word that is incompatible, forgotten, unnoticed, asymmetrical is my friend. Then this, that, and after that, I want from the back row.

I know a lot of people are no different than me.

The cries disappeared until we came out for long laugh chats,

It is not known whether time or experiences brought it to this point.

No one can bear to listen to anyone, maybe me too...

Mouths are closed before the end of the conversation.

Those who try to express themselves are not taken seriously.

Decisions are made according to what is seen and heard,

It doesn't matter if the person is hurt or upset or if he feels bad.

I used to think people had a problem with me,

But as I see the interaction they have with others besides me.

I realized that their problem is themselves,

Inadequacies, lack of self-confidence.

Explanations, silences, women with fluffy hair, changing faces on the red phone, teenagers resembling storks, little notepads with salary calculations, weddings, hospital rooms, travels, sound and sound, smells, people are more human, they come in droves, I close the door, someone for my arm I groan, I lie on the floor, the carpets and corridors change, a ball that keeps hitting the ceiling finally falls.

She cries a lot, doesn't smile, if I hold a baby in my arms, she doesn't shut up, her body betrayed her but she completes the day with a soul that doesn't fit her. Next up is arm wrestling.