@trixdawson 14 December 2021 more from that month

If you were a bird landing on the window of my heart

Iron my eye wrinkles. That I accept what is poured out of your heart into the city inside me with only ironing and admonition. In which landscape is love hidden and what color is longing the betrayal? What if I were a sentence knitted from poems, after you are not with me, and the syllables I shoveled are my mixed heart and the ground I slipped on. Lament of the seasons. It's Thursday and I doubt my smiles and I'm the sad princess of meaninglessness. I am just like paper. I am still white and I am still innocent, my Lord is the only witness. Don't hang me from my sentences. Don't throw it out of your heart.

But I know that; I'm too late for this season and I'm even worse than that breakdown in the city's networks. I'm neither sorry nor prose from my father. If I've been kind, leave a rose for myself and my grave for a lifetime, if you truly loved me... It wasn't enough. In the mausoleum of solitude in the virtue of laying down. My eyes are neither black nor blue, but my wings are the whip of the sky. My loneliness remains. If I have dreams, it's your absence. My existence is sometimes full of hijab and sayings that are extinct in their moldy hearts when love is out of date... I don't have delusions, but it's true that I'm in pain every time I fall asleep and you don't know what I'm falling into the most. For a while, I'm hiding inside. In a way, pure longing and sadness in the vastness of the night… If I were a traveler, what would your words be… May they bury me in glorious color as I live and write in honor. It's your mercy, my buds, if I burn incense from the chimney as much as I smoke, it's a lie, but the only truth I burned and I prayed to my Lord and yesterday, I offered my condolences to the season, day by day... It is seasonless and my love is a traveler with coal eyes and mine after I lived it properly and put it in one breath. That I escaped from the cellar where I was hiding in my grief and fell in love. If a bird lands on the window of my heart, before the dominance of love slows down. My blue crane.

My mallard duck and my graceful sparrows and my doves flying like sponge cake do not know that I am living the Bird Paradise in the middle of Istanbul... It's a smile that I keep alive. Even though the great plane tree on which I lean dries up, its trunk is still attached to its roots, just like you, the only owner of my temple is the poems I harvested from the dreams I planted in the countryside of my heart, and now I'm buttoning the night and I don't deviate even a mile from the way I put my head, otherwise how would I endure, I would also pass on the longing for happiness, I would pass the world's possessions since my eye Am i still crying? I erased the traces of yesterday's lies.

Even if you iron it, my eyes will not change. The wrinkles, sadness and a thousand emotions and excitement hidden in my facial expressions will never leave me. Even though I have already left me, I have also fend off the false happiness hidden in the world, since it is time to leave now, my remaining strength is on the ground, but I love the geography where I was exiled, knowingly and unknowingly. If it was to cause discomfort, wasn't I a story that didn't exist in your eyes already, and not the syllables I ironed, but every painful word that caused my forgetfulness...