Hundreds of books I've read about you have given me so much

I share a loneliness with poetry and everything that goes from my strength to my strength is inside me. As a quote, I've stopped talking about my life stolen from my everyday and stolen dreams, I just write, I just love.

Wasn't that what I had before? After all, I got my strength from love and knowledge.

Sometimes it is not enough to know what I know: but not to me, but to the people I am talking about, and climates beyond my knowledge, as the philosopher emphasized:

All I know is that I know nothing.

Today's world where being simple and clear is also a luxury.

While the people who made the revolution in the past are consuming insanely today, the universe and the money they don't have in their pockets, and here the confluence of life is built into me.

I have dreams.

My memories and…

As the poet said;

Poetry is born of two things: imagination and memory.

Especially the people we love and believe in the memories, those who stole our dreams and while we are still realizing this...

Maybe this is a goal I wrote myself, that is, what I shared for a lifetime with my loved ones and my dearest friend, both in a memory, when I stole my dreams that I owned and built a new life for himself with stolen dreams...

My routine has always been to love.

The magnificent ability to love that living without malice has given me.

When I realized that love and being loved were never enough for people, the experiences I went through came as if the socks had been ripped off one after the other:

And that's when I met my pen that day because everyone I loved and will love had left me, and whoever I believed to be loved by me.

There had to be something new to give my love to, new people, it had to be, because I had not yet realized what was waiting for me in my association with the pen.

I am totally and completely in love with my pen, but there is more:

In this way, many people that my path crossed and the universe gave me the command to love again, finally my sealed heart was opened and I escaped from the corridor I was walking in.

I am warmed by the breeze of spirituality.

I embraced myself with the suggestions of my pen…

The publication of my life and my self, which is considered inadequate, whereas I was always strong before and after I became stronger, although I also lost power, but there was always someone who gave me the order to be so strong.

Was I an apple to ripen on my branch?

Or would I always bloom as a flower and fade?

I, on the other hand, was a magic hidden in the power of images: the quest that I pursued in the presence of words, which is important while of course I develop reconciliation with myself.

Derivative of life.

Perched on wasted years.

My sub-memory, in which I pile up all the enthusiasm and love and words, is such that hundreds of books that I have read in a lifetime offered me a lot, but I underestimated them and there are so many more waiting to be read...

So many books and many sentences and writings and poems waiting to be written were hidden in the library of my mind.

If I'm a romance.

I am a poet.

While I still haven't been able to explain to people what it means to be human.

I have never pronounced to be loved as much as I took refuge in the power of love because I was always sure for a lifetime that I was loved.

Here are the dusty shelves of my mind.

Here are my dreams.

Here are my memories…

Here's what awaits me...

What was my size and what would I dare?

Never to anything.