Whenever my presence gets me busy, a spider web hidden in my cocoon makes me invisible. I love being a butterfly, so I feel the joy and peace of writing daily articles and poems. Still, I wandered like a silkworm.
I want to climb into people's lap like a kitten.
Come see that; I was scared like a bird, but I did not stop flying and loving.
What color and season? Which emotion, which time and which place?
Even though I tend to be like everyone else, even though I tend to be like everyone else due to my existence, with the awareness mechanism that I have embraced with my desolation, I will step up and reach peace and happiness.
The story of endless desolation
Where the light rubs on the colors it has lost
In the deep grief of an exiled darkness on the moldy walls
on their pale scarred faces.
of bodies whose shadows have fallen into other climates
Like searching for traces of fate
to the untimely separations left unfinished
drifting from time after time
sorrow clouds of angry souls
Quietly in your contemplative gaze
In the trembling hands of the breaking storms, the cold winter frosts
like many trying to hold on to a dull gaze
drops of rain falling from the eyes,
mingling with the tunes of an old song
helplessness of aspirations.
Among the faces I don't know
the broken lines of my own face
hovering on the walls.
The last season of a past life,
in the dead-end streets of a ruined city.
The painful wounds of an old spring
in the weary evenings where the sun once went
after hopes left where time ends
The remaining bodies take the lead in the disorganization of souls.
My belief in the existence of peace in this world has ceased completely, especially since my one-man world and my heaven that I built for myself were set on fire years ago and when I suddenly lost my home as a wasted citizen and before. No matter what job I have entered with the right of my wrist, while misfortune and troubles do not fall off my collar.
While my dreams are proprietary and patented, my best friend embraced my dreams and suddenly turned away, and what am I still up to?
Is it a happiness that will not occur and a peace that will last?
And almost everything I owned and my loved ones were stolen from my hand and my soul was seized. But is it not every day heralds a new hope and a new beginning, and while I can write a foundation as much as I can write, while I can feel myself flying in the air with enthusiasm in some of my writings, and while I have preserved the endless love in me and can reproduce it, while the Lord has finally reconciled with myself and my greatest love has come to me. And while I know that everything in the world is transient and loving the child inside me like crazy, even as I identify with this gigantic mercy created by writing and rush to my Lord without interruption.
You, on the other hand, are the only beauties that bind me to life: I thank you and you with all my heart, who presented me to me and accompanied me in every writing and poetry born with the sparks of the Divine Fire.
Moreover, I am at the very beginning of the road and there are so many things that I have to overcome thanks to you who take care of my pen, but the best is when I have that strong bond with life and you.
I'm not very good with poems, although I appreciate them despite the transliteration between languages. Something that I have learned is that if it is well written, fluency will be maintained in the other language. Algorithms are advancing rapidly, but the genius of the pen continues to rule. I liked your poem.