There is a playpen in front of my house, now ruined. I think they will break it down one day. For some reason, it was not destroyed, bulldozers did not pass over it. I am astonished when I think about it that this ruined park survives. Maybe it's the ghost of that little boy who still guards the park, who knows? You wondered when you said ghost, right? My mother told me this story when I was a child, and I remembered that I cried a lot. That's the kid's mind.
Let me tell you then, as far as I remember;
In reference to the child in a makeshift, ramshackle playground in which he imprisoned his childhood, youth and the present;
A kid who won all the toys, beat them all at once, wandered around and got stuck in a rusted seesaw, tried to exist alone in a two-person toy, but he tried hard but dried blood on his knees, his legs were exhausted from trying to take off by himself, each time hard to the ground. a boy stuck with his rotten butt from hitting. His face is covered in dirt and rust When you say dirt, it is actually the traces of tears from his childhood. The pain of loneliness in his body, his eyes on the empty sofa that is constantly in front of him. He's ripe enough to stop waiting for a counterpart, but he is still pure and sad enough to wait for someone to sweep him off his feet and make you feel the wind on his face. For so long, it has lost the meaning of time in that playground from time to time. There is nothing left inside but a feeling of emptiness.
While staring at the empty chair, he pondered the possibilities of death with the mind of the child. Then he thought of the long time he was waiting for and could not make him give up on his pride.
Do not say what the child understands from pride! We were most proud of us when we were children. Just as our purest and most challenging state was when we were children.
Sometimes someone came to the park; other other guys. Moving with hope, his body tried to create a gleam in his eyes, giving up some of his life energy. "Once" he said, "Once there was someone and I could feel that wind on my face".
The dirt rust kid sitting in an old rusted seesaw, no child approached to his dreams as all excitement rushed. The dirt on his face increased more and more with the boy who came and then suddenly disappeared. There is no longer any meaning to the time, nor the return home call of the evening prayer. There was nobody calling out to the child or wondering. Everyone and everyone gave up on the child, but he could not give up on the game of his dreams.
According to a rumor, that boy is still waiting in that playground. To feel the wind once on his face, to rewet the dry tears, to die with pride.
You and Me - Poetry
I'm so full, so full of you and me,
I was half, I was whole, you and me.
I got drunk without drinking, you and I
I was very happy with you.
We did not disappear, so deep traces of you and me,
We drew a road to the future, you and me.
It has been a time, you and I are so tired
The earth is not the sky, where did we travel with you?
We collapsed, we longed for water, you and me,
We planted the seeds of hopes, you and me.
We set sail for the unknown, you and I,
We scattered our love between you and me.
We embraced you and me with hopes,
You and I were mixed with love.
We braved the storm you and me
We knocked the pain down, you and me
We became two straight lines, you and me,
You and I became warp on rugs.
We are never tired of our love, you and I
We have never destroyed souls, you and me.
After this story, I also spent many long hours in that park. I got into that rusted seesaw alone. I was wondering is he still here? Has his soul found peace? Have I succeeded in making him happy? Years have passed and I always think of it, and even though I am old, I secretly ride that rusted seesaw in that park. To feel like him, to die with my pride.
