We are in the age of speed and speed.
So every morning is a different morning for us.
Our sun on the horizon is different for every moment.
Our nightingale singing in roses every morning is different.
Before we can get used to a blooming flower, its leaves fall into our hands.
The whites in our hair, which were one or two strands yesterday
You'll see that it covers half of the head.
Our time is not a river,
It's like a wind. It blows and passes.
That's all.
That's all, my friend.
Everything that catches our eye changes in an instant. In the blink of an eye, it transforms, transforms. Our street is painted a different color in a moment. Our street is not yesterday's street, our city is not yesterday's city. Even the pigeons that land on our window sills are not the pigeons we fed yesterday. Look how frightened they are at our outstretched hand. Our mountains, hills, plains, fields and rivers are also different from us. They are sad and happy. They wrap, they wrap, they keep secrets. But they've been so lonely and grieving for quite some time. You ask why? Don't ever ask. It's a secret between me and them, I can't tell. Do you think the people we saw on those roads remained the same? So are we the same? No. Maybe we were the ones who changed the most, the fastest, and changed the fastest. You see that we no longer recognize ourselves. We can't define, we can't complement each other. Because we are no longer the old us. More precisely, unfortunately, we don't have "We" anymore. There is only and as much "I" as possible.
It's like a secret hand is wandering in the sky, my friend. Hence our horror. That's why this is our disintegration, this is our drift, this is our disaster. Look, every time we wake up, we regret that we wake up. Because what we know best is no longer familiar. What we used to call "friend of forty years" only yesterday, today seems to have become alienated and hand in hand. Many people we trust and expect trust can walk away from us without even a greeting. Quickly and ignoring us.
It's as if our streets and cities have withdrawn into their shells. Nobody knows about anybody. Everyone's problem is their own problem. He doesn't really care about anyone else. Passengers of the same road now travel alone in different channels. The addressees of the cause of humanity or Islam surrender the cause, which they are dealing with with different motives. Because the loves of this rapidly passing century are passing quickly. If there is no love, there is no lawsuit. Yes, in my opinion, if there is no love, no matter what you do, there will be no lawsuit. Our situation is the clearest and greatest witness to this.
Needless to say, we are in the age of speed and pleasure. And unfortunately, for the most part, we have become captives of both speed and pleasure. Besides, we were tied with such chains and shackles.
I can't explain, my friend. I cannot describe today, this time and its people. Because I can't understand. I can't explain it as you can see. In fact, I have neither the intention nor the desire to understand and explain. I have no regrets or regrets for this. Because I am only here in body, spiritually and in heart, I am a traveler who travels in other ages. Those passengers who believe that everything has a soul, a dream, a secret. When looking at everything, they first consider the heart. That's why if you hit them to the touchstone and measure of this century, you will not be able to understand them.
Let me tell you a secret. Those travelers, because they wholeheartedly believe in the One, they are always united, they are together, they are inseparable. Because the following sentence is written on the doors of the heart:
"Do not go! Distances are not for us.”
Don't go too, my friend, don't get carried away with this speed and pleasure. Believe me, far away is not for us.
The Walls of My Heart have been plundered - Poetry
How long have you been on my mind
You never go out anyway.
It's already past midnight,
Everywhere is quiet, desolate.
The eye does not see.
I'm tired but I don't have an ounce of sleep.
the poems I wrote to you,
While deaf kings have heard,
You don't even know.
Oh, how strange.
Here is life, here is the contradiction.
Read a little, travel, think, open your horizons.
For those who know, while the waves sing,
Her eyes were closed, she had to hold her hands tight now.
And getting lost in the halls of your eyes,
forget everything,
reborn with you
Courageously starting life from scratch.
Alas, the caravans of love were besieged,
Whatever was looted.
There is no cure for the soul,
Nothing that touches the teeth.
