I left my dreams and I assured that from tonight I will not dream, the voice and the person who is drunk is not what I am involved in, but what is now just about postponing the vigil of a night that I resented.
It's not temperate, it's the heavy wind of May, and I don't count the days, I stopped counting at dawn and I know that I have once again embarked on an irreversible path.
It is certain that I am wrong, so I do not want to be mentioned just to make someone wrong. This is a new notice that I draw to humanity who is indifferent to what I desire, because every time I come across the white page in order to protect my feelings, it is true that I leave my impulses to the bottom of the abyss, which is covered with the heat of the night, and here is the window of happiness that I neglected.
I thought that The only recipe for unhappiness is every time I hope, every time I pick up a pen, and I thought it was easy to create a new world from scratch, though I often created a new world, even worlds, but when its satellite was love and hope, I couldn't prevent this world from exploding eventually.
Just like my tears that I could not keep flowing for days, so the delta in me vanished almost into nothingness, and while it was just another explanation for matching my poems with my temperament, I sometimes hurled words with a well-intentioned wind, sometimes I defended them, and I waited for their kindness and ownership, even if I could not even embrace me. here is the bill of lading on the shelf.
If a name is the rustle of documents.
It was like the opening of hundreds of letters and stories and poems that were built inside the house, as if there is the imposition and intolerance of words, and I have been questioning the formation constantly. I finally came to the decision.
Isn't it okay?
Whatever its publication is, it is an age-laden scene hidden in the theme of yesterday and day and tomorrow.
It is not the age that I care about anymore, but with that majestic dizziness that accompanies it, I close my eyes and I think that I will fall asleep with the longing to reach him, and I think I will fall asleep for years: the only option that has come to me while sleeping.
And no matter who I succumbed to people, moreover, people who beat me close to me, people that I have not met even once, and even people and humanity whose name I do not know and internalize indiscriminately.
Humanity is a bleeding time.
If I wish for tranquility, it must be a privilege, especially when I only wish to be at peace with myself, to see approval and find value.
I am not going to defend the values that I protect, after all, most of them are inherited and hidden in the collective subconscious.
Where my ancestors are hiding.
In a cave.
Perhaps, like fish swimming in the holy water, no one succumbs to the memory of fish and sees it as a superiority:
"I couldn't recognize you."
On the contrary, I am not afraid of those who say, on the contrary, the one I present my heart to, and here I have ignored me and introduced myself a million times.
Neither reproach nor whimper, although I am behind that I am whimsical, but I am also very realistic in terms of access to facts and truths.
Without getting out of my way.
Without breaking my word.
Without neglecting my good intentions and love.
And here's somebody hitting the glass, I guess he doesn't realize that I am waking up at the desk and my soul is forgotten at night and my words.
There is nobody at home.
Also in the apartment.
But where does this sound come from?
Moreover, who could have come out on the streets playing gin and ball, hitting all those floors through the glass and communicating with me?
I go to the next room in fear, and I meet eye to eye with a seagull, and in my eye contact with three or five biscuits and seagulls forgotten in the glass; the poor and hungry animal just wants to feed its stomach, then it flies to another window and in that short period of time I crumble and put the biscuit on the exterior of the window and I gently close the window.
I am passionate about you - Poetry
You know me
An intimacy is nothing.
I'm updating the trail of loneliness in my formatted memory,
I have new version tears.
With intellectual enthusiasm, I cut some history, some poetry,
I knit an anatomy for myself from loose patterned fabrics.
When we were talking about the sea, the sea, and the headlights of the car, the winter came closer
It bites my skin thoroughly, it's cold.
Let me spend the November months like a leisurely romantic,
Then I promise to you, I'll get myself together.
Don't feel sorry for me, I'm fine, I chant God's glorification every day with my own rhythmic counts,
Sometimes I play hopscotch with myself, sometimes shadow play on the wall.
Nobody understands but I still
Like frosty cuts of distillation,
I describe the environment in the sum of the internal angles of a poem.
I do not deny that I miss you
Moreover, I missed it very much.
But don't tell me to come.
This is how it happens in our story,
You are the news from me, I am condemned to you.
We are like the agony of red,
I'm blood, you laugh.
While I am having breakfast, the animal still confuses the day and the night and I return to the table.
Colors.
Dreams.
Prayers.
I know that I am a veteran of my disappointments and my unrequited existence, and a lifetime where I have always had good feelings for humanity and been ignored and insulted one step further.
I do not demand to be loved or something from anybody, even as I easily manage to love for no reason.
And here is where I stand in my struggle with myself and even regress.
Even though I know how to settle in every sense, when it comes to human relations, I cannot get enough of anyone, and I am now aware that I have invested in my mind and soul for a lifetime: I lost the capital - my main feelings and hope - in the stock market and my depreciating stocks were actually full of resentment with thousands of sentences that I piled on the pages.
I have been writing actively in the literary world for more than eight years and my heart beats rapidly and excitedly every time I start a sentence.
What did I tell you, moreover?
The nightingale I spoke to in a guide.
Sometimes the crow and I, with whom I walked away as a guide, adopt all living things and people in a pure way and expect nothing from them anymore.
My enthusiasm that lost altitude and my desire to write are just as much joy to life stolen.
The bank corridor I was running yesterday when I sweated in the lecture halls the day before, and the day before I touched the hearts and minds of the children with chalk in my hand.
Regardless of the subject, I am enthusiastically and enthusiastically absorbed and focused on my work with love and good intentions.
Human or flower.
Love and reputation.
Mesmerizing ❤️