What dream am I hidden after, a poem that I feel painful about, and the thousands of wonders that remain in me, the apology of yesterday and the prostration in front of which I was laid out, what a magnificent climate it is to be a soldier of love.
I am the daughter of nomads.
I am the star of Istanbul.
Of course I dream of smiling.
But I fell so low that I
More than anything I could fall for ...
It is this day and now that I postpone my earlier.
I cried a lot today and yesterday and my hands touching tomorrow, of course, I am a veil hidden in my supplications if I know the remedy and love and sadness.
I am also a disciple of the sky.
My good intentions, which I am the guarantor hidden in my shroud, of course, prevail, and even my voice that reaches the Deaf.
I go back and forth like an ant and prepare the bundle of winter now, most of all the prose and poetry I stop at be ready, when it will be tomorrow's counterpart. that frog that touched my poetry was the prince and while he was his expedition, my favorite dream is the guise I keep hidden inside me.
While my buffoonish dreams come and go, in the rivers of my mind and without being lazy, I have extracted the truth from the dreams, but my wretched self, which is regarded as the weed, touches someone's heart whenever I touch somebody's heart, and whenever I breathe, my love will end out of place, my native voice that I can not end.
Maybe it's a relative mercy that rained down on me, the little birds that suffer from the sparks of my looted life, and the huge sarcophagus inside of me.
A rhythm disturbance is my dreams knocked down with a slingshot while witnessing the fluttering of every love I observe.
What a sorrow, my beautiful Lord, if I have been fooled for a life on a bleeding day, do not you know that the gray color in me is hidden in my poems, and in your green eyes tell me my dreams, my Lord: am I a native of this world?
I'm weaving mimoses.
I touch the garden in me.
I put my relapsing sadness into falacia, but I am fed with my pain and longing and my sorrow, and I am saturated with love, not with a strong tea, but with the bitter taste of brewed troubles, my words are you who make the night bright in your tasseled feelings and your squint eyes, my beautiful Lord, and I wrote my hope when I was alone with you. You know what I feel.
The climates, of course, my feelings that change color many times during the day, while my feelings are a hidden enthusiasm that coincides with my climates, but suddenly I was frozen in tears and rested in my sad heart, how thankful I am to you, my beautiful Lord, because you have not left me since the first day, and besides myself, I have not abandoned me many times. where I tried to go and stayed.
If it is a day, it is like that.
Even though I know to smile, it is a miraculous escape that suits me the most, and of course you are the one who sowed my love seeds in me from the very first day, and this time I got my logic idled for a lifetime.
And when I hijacked, of course, in every intense silence, I did not shy away from my words and then my rebellion and a majestic heart could not satisfy myself because of my embarrassment. And I write down whatever is aged in the cocoon inside me because there is no other harbor where I can take refuge after you and love.
It is a flower that people look upon.
I also love my thorns, most of all, while sentences gushing out of my places where I pricked myself and then suddenly bleed, and I fondly dressing my poems.
I noticed you after that dream
what happened later
When I saw you in the morning I said you a beautiful girl
Beautiful girl after a few days
i started saying
After a few days she got gorgeous eyes
my thoughts turned into
After a while, your face, your eyes, your body
I started to say the masterpiece of a painter
I remember thinking of you for hours
Every time our eyes meet sweet sweet
I was filled with anxiety
I would wait for you in front of the window
You were not aware of anything
Thinking about you up that slope as you climb
If I say I'm tired of imagining you
it would be a lie
This is the past tense how beautiful it was
I've saved so much to tell you
Neither the sunrise nor the moon
count what stars to the sky without sleep
it is not enough for me to slide when you are not
fusion of countries
I loved you so much
My dream garden
I feel aching from this love now
What I cannot see and what I cannot touch
what I couldn't say
i could feel like i was alive
while writing to you
Even the hill you climbed is offended by you now
I wish this love had a little mercy
to spend an innocent love
means a life unlived
I cannot call it a feminine instinct, because I am still a child who has not been able to prove his maturity and I do not know what is acceptable and that I cannot be so reasonable and I do not know what is acceptable and no one turns around me while suffering and no matter how soft my inner voice is, I am angry with fire in my eyes and the words burning in the fire of love that I flee in haste nevertheless, the universe smells like a rose, my Lord. Maybe I reveal roses of roses, to stay alone with myself and reconcile with the misery inside me.
Every dream has an end, that is why it is an imaginary exposure, as in every life, and an army of feeling that I complain and fall on the bumpy roads in my soul and stand up and salute myself for a lifetime, and I do not know which rank is the highest. I just hope.
My freedom is of course a lifetime that I suffered from despotic orders, and I am free while I am loving and writing and I find peace with your presence, in my life of imprisonment that has never been interrupted, and you know me better than me and must adjust the direction of the wind in me, otherwise I would not be living and writing.
Thank goodness the season is not over.
Since my due date is not expired either.
Just like the full moon, when I am full and while reserving my right to be a star, as long as you hear my prayers, make me victorious on the way to peace and make me victorious and question my identity, no one even loves me anymore, but at least with a smile standing in my heart and on my face, at least I smile. It will not be left unfinished anymore, and as long as I can love for others, I can love freely.
