I am by no means absent from life every day

What I think to myself, I get offended at night as if I'm talking to whom, the concept of loneliness that follows, which is when I feel my back is crushed, In fact, the row of sighs is one after another, I feel alone in the dark and pierce the bottom of the past.

Good thing you're gone too, so I couldn't find anyone to whine or sneer at.

It's like the anger has disappeared, I'm dreaming again, everything is over and I'm humming the song when I say I'm glad you're gone.

Well, you're not there either, I don't have any anger to take the anger out by wandering around in vain.

Don't let my stagnation deceive you.

This silence is due to my disregard for the intricate whirlpool of my mind.

I have the ability to be in silence, my soul is addicted to peace, I have postponed the reasons for my many emotional feelings that I thought were insurmountable.

However, in every case where my contrary side outweighs, even I am void for myself.

Waits, that contradictory side of me that lies deep inside is already there.

My outlier often questions shallow humanities.

When my unjust tiredness reaches its extreme, all my efforts will not listen to me, my contrary side does not listen to me.

Sometimes, I don't expect an answer to every question that has timed out, I don't answer it.

To everything that has lost its hold on me.

It means being able to love more, the peace that spread to my existence before the prayer, when the night I made a contract with my pen, and the day of love at work, and sometimes the ç/quote lyrics of yesterday that I came from.

I am ahead by a wide margin in my lane.

I am by far the most deprived, but in this context, it is the story of being able to love without hesitation.

Without hesitation while loving.

Before every morning I suffer.

As much as I am in love, in the game I play for life and love, while every dice I throw, love is sure to be Mars.

The crammed earth.

If it's a dirty smile, that closed door that I can't escape and open the curse of the demon who stabbed me in the back.

When I cannot escape from the inn, I cannot decide whether I am an innkeeper or a passenger sometimes.

It is the appetizer of my poems in every ukde that remains in me.

Do not limit the poets, do not categorize them. Let everyone write what they want in the type of writing they want. Don't we read what works for us anyway? Do not prevent people from writing and trying new shapes. Who knows, maybe the form and style they wrote is correct, not yours, what do you know? Beauty and category in poetry, selection of poetry in competitions.

It is as full as a banquet table where I ate and drank to the fullest. While the other name of the life I can't get enough of writing about, and the greeting I gave to eternity where I spread wings with the freedom of the pen, mine is a tale that I cannot name, even though the journey on my boat of hope is considered a disappointment for some.