Did I really vouch for your huge love? Was I just a voice calling incessantly in the evenings with feelings inside, and I was abandoned as if I had never existed until I faded and faded.
Words were the translators of my dreams: smothered shy smiles that I planted in the back garden of love.
Sometimes I was a bird: relentlessly bouncing.
It was not a lie that I covered my grief with the curtain that descended on my eyes.
Thousands of flowers bloomed in my heart, but I was one and withered before opening.
The poems that I opened my heart to are for one drink each.
My prayers are in your heart.
Dead or alive, what difference would one make in the twitching eye of the climates?
Cities were destroyed spiritually, and I commented on each of them with separate poems: I went and came in a climate where my star was not at peace, and I ministered to a season I could never have: you know, you know...
You know, the mercy that rains when I wake up.
The lightning that I marked between sleep, after all, was as real as I ignored my nightmares and was tested.
There was a mighty wind.
Snowflakes that match the delusions of the painful sky.
That big smiling orange sun:
And here I fit each one of them in a single season, and during the day I both rained and dried, my tongue and palate were going to remain in the uk as another poem, I embraced the wind as much as the heart blew recklessly in my tiny hands, I was as loving and calm as my rain-eyed mother...
Of course, the happiness I come across in my dreams.
And that horizon that I'm stuck in just writing and loving.
The heart was kind.
Courtesy is every greeting I know and a caring glance.
It was the river flowing into me that revived me, maybe I was a barren land city, I grew up with the rest of the world in their geography, I was able to kill most of my nightmares from a dream to reality and here is my Lord witness: ah, who loved me so much, ended my loneliness and was more needy than anyone else. That rug I sewed for a sincere smile and poems that shook the climates…
The verses spilled out in a stray:
Incessant prayers as my knees buckle.
If I'm a color, which one?
If I am a prayer, meeting is only to my Lord.
If I am a dream, I loved without ironing and I knew as much as I lived, that the storm inside me would not end and that the ruling fate and I consented.
The calmness of a humid day is hidden inside me as of the moment.
I became Istanbul again tonight, and the rain flowing from the eaves and the arid lands of my heart as much as it rained, I loved the endless mercy and love. I once came to life, a current from the past, an excitement, the lever of the feelings whose seams were ripped inside me, and the wind that came through the glass while I was my sap, though my soul also My house is also sheltered, but whenever I fall into a dream, it comes to love and finds me wherever I hide.
The day has slept.
I suddenly fell into the night.
As much as it rains, it rains, but I am the oppressed side that I escape from the trembling voice of the heart hidden in life, and I am as clumsy and fragile as I am strong.
As I press the pedals of my tactless heart, life accelerates and my dreams that lose momentum are reborn. I love every star that pierces the skin of the night separately and I am a frequenter of the sky with lightning, I am a frequenter of the climate, I knit with the suffering I have suffered in unbearable times, when the longing kneaded by love, I am heaping up my poems and the snow falling on my hair, of course, in my growing longing heart a huge avalanche.
I am a dewdrop.
Like the fruit eaten raw, the fruits of my pain are falling on my lap and my world is busy growing day by day.
Even if I am a single speck in the eyes of the world.
All the hardships I've overcome alone.
I am not self-sufficient enough, but in love.
The wheel of my hope is no longer broken.
Touching myself as much as I did not expect, my heart pounding and accompanying words sometimes even the alphabet and twenty-nine letters are not enough.
