The man spoke to the floor to himself as he swung his ambiguous steps;
- He was saying that the sun is treating people's lungs with threads of thread as he looked out of the window near the ceiling. Blue curly waves are moving above the sea. They are also hidden in the clouds, afraid they will evaporate and disappear. Are they only afraid of clouds, people also pestered the shade of a tree. The flowers have closed their petals and hid the love they hid in their intestines that will turn to seed. Birds do not fly because their wings catch fire. And here I am, not afraid of the sun, burning to what I once feared. I'm burning where the sun doesn't touch I'm here!
A heavy smell of sweat and cigarettes permeated the room. It was forbidden to smoke inside, but the smell of the cigarettes they burned together without putting them out was permeated on them. The fan rotating with the noise from the light in the ceiling was not working either.
Anonymous curses were crushed on the concrete floor by the heels of the cut-toed Wednesday shoes. The pouring paces were like stereotypes. There were traces of shapeless screams from the night on the pillows. Unnamed faces were placed on the wall, staring at the grip of the scorpion as in pain.
Everyone in the room shuddered at the sound of the guard. Some of them were excited and some feared. Individual names were read.
Ripping his smile from his wrinkled mouth, he went and took the letter. His eyes were first caught on the faded blue stamp marked "Read". There was no such thing as special in this special place. As he opened it, the envelope collapsed on his bunk bed. The iron springs creaked as their teeth were gritting. It was a short letter, his wife's tears wet the paper as she wrote. The letter, which started with words starting with how are you and continuing with words asking what you want, ended with a few quatrains.
As the stars blink through the cloud
The whole world disappears, you enter my eyes
Fire inside me from the black of dollar fortune
You are prisoners, I am free to rebel.
What makes me happy, do I keep the sun?
Shall I write his name on the instrument that plays my sadness?
If you want the last version while I go, I will forget
I commit salvation and pray every night.
He thought the letter he received would cool his heart. Whereas, a glass of tea filled from boiling samovar was burnt as if he had swallowed it. The glowing words sat in the middle of his throat. He looked around, some of his roommates were showing their friends the pictures in the envelope. Some were crying, some were flying on the wings of happiness. Did they trap the stars of the night in their eyes, their eyes shining brightly as he fell into dark darkness?
I should write an answer, he said to himself, wondering if not. His house was far away, he could not come, his wife could always come near him, maybe on holidays He took his papers out from under his pillow and started to reply.
Letter to Far Away - Poetry
I had your longing letter in my hand this morning
You keep asking "what is your mood, how are you?"
Let me tell you darling doesn't help
Let this life be your victim hang with your hair.
You said "what do you want when I come?"
Bring a pinch of truth to crush the lies
As my soul rises to the skies without suffering
Bring a little spring breath.
I don't know if you can find it, a little bit of my dream
If you put it between your letter and send it to me
Do not object because it is old
Even for a day, it would be a remedy for this soul.
He attached his love and longing to the guard to be sent. Now it was left to wait for the remotely coming answer.
Many stars spilled from the sky to the roof of the prison, many eggs burst in the nest of the sparrows. There was no news, no answer.
His heart was bleeding from stitched places. He was holding on to the warmth of his dream picture. Every night, when he looked out the window near the ceiling, he was stunned. Had the stars gone mad they were shooting arrows from the fire at each other. The moon was not visible most of the time, and his heart was buried in darkness like the heavens.
One morning they found the dead man. He was a victim of slander, his dreams were gone, his hope was gone with the news that did not come, he was dragged with his longings and his life was gone.
His hope that he could not live to the fullest among the few strings and stones that could not be sent with him was hidden.
The lights of my letters are diminishing one by one
As the stars fade.
My heartbeat filled my mouth
Instead of spitting, he will also be silent,
As I keep silent to you
You are late my beloved
Too late now!
