We did not care about the early evenings, neither the early evenings, nor the early snow, nor the fusses on the faces of our elders. we would have thought. When we woke up in the morning, neither our window nor our door would be left to open. That first snow in front of the window would be enchanting. The sun-illuminated speckles would shine brightly like a gem, or our eyes looking at it in astonishment, would they be less bright?
Your wife all the hard work for the elders. Of course, her whole reign was in us minors. We would be eager to do work that exceeds our height among the snow that exceeds our height.We used to shovel snow with shovels that we could not understand from where we found it. We would hardly hit a path from the door of our house to the barn road.
Within a few days the resistance of the abdomen would be broken. It could not stand the attraction of the sunlight and it would relax. When the height was below our height, the sovereignty would pass to us. A plastic bag on her hand would find the steepest slope of the neighborhood in one breath. I do not know what else there is the pleasure of skiing on those steep slopes. The most dangerous part of this business is that our mother. If we found a stove edge and dried our clothes before our mother saw it, would it be good for us?
The plump and tiny hands surrounding the stove would escape the stiffness at the last minute. As the warmed hands relaxed, the pain would be read from our faces. Perhaps such anguish would be felt when a dead body was given life, the anguish he inflicted on us. We couldn't stop loving him.
What beautiful memories the snow would collect for us.
Would it be less beautiful at night in those snowy days? The steam of boiling lime in my mother's blue-zinc kettle would circulate the room free. Children clustered around the stove. Tiny hands peeling the shells, smiling faces. Conversations that go on with tea, bitter and sweet memories told, stories, tales. Free spirits who are not captive to the computer, to the phone. And in the shadow of all this, a family's knitting together, now it is so distant those nights, those winters. The flames lit up on the ceiling in those nights, the conversations going on around the stoves, the warm human hearts touching each other in the winters.
I understood this yesterday, how far away those winters are from me now. I realized that yesterday while looking at the bleak snow from my window. In fact, there was hope in me first. It was going to be the first wife of the year, and I had been longing for her for a long time.
Although not as beautiful as Nazım's, I wrote poems to him. I had taken off my white winter sweater with pink flowers on the sleeves, my blue scarf, and my blue gloves. I was going to be decorated and prepared for him. I would greet him with white and blue. It was going to fall on me like a dream, it would hug me, I would lie down on the white arms, and I was going to read my poem to him.
But it seemed so unhappy.
I have never felt that distant from myself. It was obviously not permanent this time. I realized that when I touched my hands. Her hands were melting when they touched my hands. Whereas the touches were so small, why was I cold?
I wanted it to come like it was in my childhood. I wanted him to warm me up and stay with me for a long time, however, he was coming and going like a stranger.
Why has the face of everything changed? What I feel, my loved ones, the seasons. It changes even more, I'm afraid. One day, if I too get lost in those memories, the face of me and everything, without getting more dirty and old.
If they take me to their clean and happy world while the snow goes away ... If everywhere were white, white ...
Don't light the lamp, let go
a yellow human head
do not fall out of the window.
It's snowing
to the dark.
It's snowing
and I remember.
Snow…
It went out like a blown candle
huge lights ..
And the city
remained like a blind person
under the snow.
Don't light the lamp, let it go!
Your memories that enter the heart like a knife
I understand that they are mute.
It's snowing
and i remember