dexbimter

[dexbimter]

Life Poem

In this rough sea called life, We swim with hope, Every effort is a precious pearl, With a breath that comes out of the bottom and is held.

As we drag our boat, The wind of love, Longing envelops our nights, Secretly, under the witness of the stars.

We weave each moment delicately with labor, So that dreams do not break, when they are known with patience.

Every drop of our sweat turns into a rainbow, Our hopes that come into being with labor; grow our souls.

Every effort is a sapling, It takes root with love, Every leaf is a dream, It buds and grows with our hands. The golden color of the sun envelops our field of hope, Time reaps the labor, In the delicate garden of love.

Achievement, a poem, Each line kneaded with effort rhyme by rhyme, Hope, a sea, Vast as an ocean, Taking a breath in its rough waves. Love, a bunch of flowers, Memories in its scent, Longing, a lighthouse, Bitter memories in its expected light.

On broken stone and gravel roads, Even though our feet are bare, Our steps are firm. Each obstacle is a step, Be more alive as you climb. Life is kneaded with our labor, It sprouts with hope every moment, This is a love song, echoing in our hearts.

Life is a poem, Each line is hidden with labor, effort and sweat, Hope, love, longing; all are the songs of our hearts. Achievement; woven with labor, A delicate dream kneaded with effort, Every effort turns into a hopeful piece of good news.

[dexbimter]

One last time

If we could talk to you one last time…

We could have fought, We could have shouted as loud as we could, We could have sworn with a mouthful, We could have opened our festive mouths, To each other.

If I had looked into your eyes one last time, If your voice had penetrated my mind one last time, The warmth of your hands, The movement of your body, Your breathing, And even your sigh, If I had felt one last time.

It didn't happen…

Every death comes suddenly, And after every death, This regret is felt. (-as)

I didn't know…

I learned….

[dexbimter]

“Be kind, work hard, stay humble, smile often, stay loyal, be honest, travel when possible, never stop learning, be thankful always, and love.”

— Ritu Ghatourey

[dexbimter]

AS MUCH AS EVERYONE ELSE

A glass of tea, another glass and another glass… Cups of tea drunk throughout the day; from small, thin-waisted glasses to large mugs, lightly brewed and with only one sugar. Sometimes two sugars are added. I couldn���t stop adding sugar to my tea, yes I know it is very harmful. However I can’t get used to drinking unsweetened tea. In fact, sometimes it becomes difficult for me to give a definitive answer whether I drink tea for the sake of tea or for the sugar. I don’t know if this is the only reason, but yes I have weight problems. However, the truth is that my only problem in life is not my weight problem. For example, I have a problem with not being able to give up my habits easily. I think this situation of adding sugar to my tea is basically related to the problem of not being able to give up habits. Maybe my real problem is that I think too much. Thinking too much is not a good thing, I know this from myself. Because the more a person thinks, the more obsessive they become. I can honestly say that I am an obsessive person. If they ask me how severe it is, my answer is ready; it is as much as everyone else.

As a person lives, ages and gets older, their memories naturally increase cumulatively in their memory. For those with a strong memory, if the majority are negative memories, this situation becomes annoying. Montaigne says in a section of his famous Essays: “A sharp memory is often a sign of stupidity.” Based on this observation, I can sincerely say that I have a tendency towards stupidity. However, there is also the fact that negative memories are more permanent in a person’s memory. In other words, if we compare our memory or mind to a white paper, if our positive and happy memories can be erased and written with a 2HB pencil, our negative and unhappy memories are engraved on this white paper with an indelible indelible pen. As a person lives, the white of this white paper can become invisible. I think this is perhaps the most painful aspect of old age. In other words, in later years, while lying in a bed, bent double, deprived of physical blessings, a person must be alone with their memories. For this reason, a person should collect positive, happy memories throughout their life if they can. I cannot say that I have been successful in this regard so far. I have negative memories of almost all the objects I encounter in my daily life. I also have bad memories about tea. You may wonder, my dear readers, how a person can have a problem or a bad memory about tea or drinking tea. However, I do. This memory did not turn me off from tea or drinking tea, but my subconscious can poison my day by sending this memory to my conscious side at certain times.

The traumas that shape a person’s life and character usually occur during childhood. Although we adults have the wrong idea that children don’t think or feel anything, their future is shaped in their sensitive hearts. Because the same thing happened to me. I was the first child of a broken family. My mother and father divorced when I was six. They separated when I was five, but their official divorce corresponded to when I was six. My brother was three at the time. His traumas were perhaps more severe than mine. When my parents divorced, they acted as if they were not only free from each other, but also from us. Yes, you can divorce your spouse, but you can’t divorce your children. But my parents were not aware of this at the time. After my mother and father divorced, everyone went their separate ways and my brother and I were left alone. We were suddenly both orphans and widows. Thankfully, my grandfather and grandmother took us in with their big hearts. (I used the word “adopted” here.) My grandfather and grandmother met all our needs as best they could. However, I can honestly say that generally no one can take better care of a child than their mother and father. Although material needs are met to some extent, spiritual needs cannot be provided from equivalent sources. As someone who has personally experienced this situation, I feel entitled to make such an observation. After the divorce, my parents, who left my brother and me behind and went their own way, were young people at the time and started competing with each other to remarry. My mother was the first to get married. Then my father was also in a rush to get married. He was looking for a suitable spouse. One day, a man came to my grandparents’ house. As I later learned, this man was the father of the prospective spouse my father wanted to marry and he wanted to check the house where his daughter would live before giving her away. So he stayed with us for one night. I was six years old and my sister was three. I don’t think I need to explain the feeling of mother deprivation we were in. We weren’t very conscious of our behavior at that age. That night, the man stayed with us and we had breakfast together the next morning. However, I could tell that the man wasn’t very happy with us because of my grandmother’s threatening looks. The man probably didn’t see it as a logical and reasonable decision for his daughter to waste her life looking after these two little children. The problem was that the only problems in this planned marriage were seen as my sister and I. Who would give their daughter to a man with two children? However, since we always stayed with my grandparents and our father had already written us off, there had never been such a problem, but the man wasn’t aware of it. However, this planned marriage had more important problems than these two children; such as my father being a neurotic or unemployed. But it seemed as if these problems didn’t exist and only the children would be a problem.

That morning, due to the influence of the guest present at breakfast, there were different and more foods than what would be on a normal breakfast table. I think that a six- and three-year-old child in a poor family does not have any awareness of what to eat or what to eat, or that they cannot be expected to be very conscious of the rules of etiquette. After all, since the family is not from the British royal family, these children can overcome the rules of etiquette with feelings and childish behaviors with children. I think that was the case with me. Of course, I did not know that asking for tea at this breakfast table would be considered a crime until I felt my grandmother's angry gaze on me. My grandmother still gave me tea so as not to be embarrassed in front of the guest. However, the girl's father had already made up his mind. This marriage would not happen. Because she left our house in a very unhappy manner. My brother and I were declared responsible for this departure. Of course, insult was not considered violence in those years. I was also not very aware of what mistake I had made. My grandmother and especially my father had declared me guilty. My grandmother brewed a pot of tea and beat me to drink it all. At the same time, she convinced me not to want tea in front of a guest. As George Orwell mentioned in his book 1984; “You can only want one thing from physical pain: for it to stop. There are no heroes in the face of pain.”

Of course, I am now at an age where I can blame someone. The only thing I can learn from this traumatic situation is to take a lesson from it. It is truly a lesson, because what I experienced is a situation that I will make every effort to prevent from happening again at any time. Normally, the attitude and behavior of anyone who has experienced such a tragic situation would undoubtedly be to become disinterested in tea or drinking tea. However, I am sipping my tea even as I write these lines. In fact, I can say that I became more familiar with tea during my high school years. Especially thanks to my uncles. All three of my uncles were tea addicts. Frankly, I had nothing else to do during those years. I don't know how right it is to look at this as a job, but when you consider that the only thing you can do in a kitchen in poverty is to brew tea, it doesn't seem like such a wrong thing to do.

The old ones didn't say live and watch for nothing. I have had my share of such negative memories in my life. These bad memories used to cause deep sadness. However, as I said, I have long passed the point of blaming someone or regretting. As someone who can hold a pen, I don't mind writing these. On the contrary, I believe with all my heart that writing is equal to existing. If words fly away and writing remains, we humans will fly away from this world as if we never lived. In other words, as if we never loved, never felt, never felt, and never participated in anything experienced. Dying is nothing, but this makes people feel bad. That's why I write with all my sincerity and openness what I feel, what I experience, my memories. Maybe a trace will remain from me. Because even though I may not be an important person, I have also lived in this world, I have existed, I have felt love, pain, suffering and pain as much as everyone else…

[dexbimter]

CONFESSION

I miss…

I won’t lie, I miss the reflection of your eyes in my soul, The way your hands warmed my heart, And the way your hair caressed my mind, I miss you so much…

Do men miss you? Do they say they miss you?

I don’t know, I don’t want to know either, I don’t cry in the evenings, I don’t like the songs on the radio either. No! I didn’t become a tramp while you were away, I just missed you.

I miss you so much…

[dexbimter]

Living Without You

Living,

Maybe it's hard,

But it's not impossible,

Living without you.

Without the sun,

Without touching the rain,

Without crying secretly,

Without cauterizing wounds,

Without writing poetry,

Without dreaming,

Without hoping,

Without watching the sea,

Without listening to the seagulls,

(And Vivaldi melodies,

And Sezen Aksu)

I'm sure I can't live.

However,

I think I can live without you.

Living,

Maybe it's hard,

But it's not impossible,

Living without you.

[dexbimter]

The movement

The sky is the same,

The stars and the moon,

The smell of the earth,

Inscriptions that defy time,

Mountains, plains, valleys, hills,

And white flowers on acacia trees.

Nothing more, nothing less,

They are all the same.

I wake up to the same world in the mornings,

I touch the same world.

I lie on the same grass,

Under the shade of the same plane tree.

I listen to the same folk songs,

I cry to the same melodies,

I write poems again,

I read novels,

I dream of the future,

I give myself a share of wealth,

I make fun of myself again,

I wonder about the new movies that come out again.

Nothing has changed,

Everything is the same.

So then,

What is this movement in my heart?

[dexbimter]

The Dream of the Pessimistic Fly

I realized now that the subjects I deal with in my writings are generally pessimistic subjects such as separation, death, heartache, abandonment, alienation, loneliness, desolation, unrequited love, depression, hatred, grudge, wars, fights and financial hardship. I realized that I did not prefer positive and hopeful subjects such as love, joy, passion, happiness, well-being, goodness, friendship, peace, reconciliation and unity. After this painful realization, I started questioning myself. The basic question of my self-criticism was; Am I a pessimist?

Although I could not write it verbatim in Montaigne's famous Essays, he talks about this situation as follows; "Some people are like flies. Just as flies cannot cling to smooth surfaces, some people cannot live without sadness and pessimism." I stopped and thought; was I a fly too? A huge housefly, the one that everyone despises, has black hairs and makes an annoying buzzing sound when it flies. Yes, it may sound ironic, but this feeling made me feel even worse. Or was I not able to live any other way? Then I thought about this subject. Because I spend most of my life thinking.

I believe that this state of thinking is a curse. I don't think I would be lying if I said that I don't have even a second without thinking. At least, I am like this when I am conscious. In other words, I don't know if I think about things while I am asleep. But when I am awake, something is constantly happening in my mind. While walking, sitting, eating, watching something, reading a book, talking and even laughing. Maybe that's why writing feels like a kind of therapy session to me. Because I can empty my mind while writing and I feel my mind lightened after writing. Otherwise, I feel very tired in my head. Sometimes I even feel paralyzed. That's when writing, whether necessary or unnecessary, saves me. That's why I take a notebook and a pen with me on most trips, because I don't have access to a computer, especially on my trips.

Let's get back to our main topic; why was I always writing about pessimistic topics? Or was I an incurable pessimist and even a pessimist? I put myself and my experiences through a mental filter. Then I came to the conclusion that I was not such a person. I was not pessimistic and I was not looking for something bad behind every event that happened. In fact, I had a positive perspective on life and people to the level of stupidity. I trusted and believed in people very quickly and moreover, I was looking for evidence to trust. I also did not hold grudges and forgot quickly. I gave people second, even third, fourth chances and forgave them quickly. I always believed that something good would happen and I had hope for the best even in the worst situations. I had exactly the kind of stupidity that the famous writer Dostoyevsky mentioned. So, what was the source of the pessimism in these writings?

First of all, the reason for this was due to what I had experienced. I realized that I did not experience things that were easily digestible. Of course, most people have experienced and continue to experience what I experienced. There are even people who live in worse places. I have never had any concern about showing myself as a rare pearl. I don’t think I have experienced very special or very unattainable things. People have this tendency because they think that only they experience what they experience. I realized years ago that such a thought is wrong. Yes, every person is valuable in their own way, but they should not compare themselves to others. When they make a comparison, the value of one of those they compare to automatically decreases. In short, I have not experienced pleasant things. The fact that the subjects of my writings contain pessimistic feelings is due to the fact that my life consists of pessimistic memories. Of course, I did not choose this situation. After all, no one can choose where and in what way they will be born.

There is also a situation that takes the situation to a more interesting dimension; if you have the kind of stupidity that I mentioned above, as mentioned by Dostoyevsky, people instinctively sense this stupidity and try to prevent you from being good or feeling good. I have not yet solved the equation of this behavior, but I can detect it. For example, if a person is bad, other people work together to improve that person and they are definitely not offended by this. But they do not lift a finger to save a good person in a bad situation from the bad situation they are in. In fact, they turn a deaf ear to the cries for help of that good person in a bad situation and push back the hands that are reaching out for help. This is a very interesting and very absurd human behavior built on very absurd foundations. At the basis of this absurd behavior, there is of course the institution of self-interest first and then we can easily list many feelings such as jealousy and malice. But most of the time, people exhibit this situation instinctively. In other words, I can diversify this situation with examples, and I can do this with my own experiences.

My short life has been spent in various struggles. The most difficult of these struggles is of course the struggle to make ends meet. This trouble is almost always on everyone's mind. In fact, this is the curse of humanity. Our ancestor and father Adam made a mistake while living in heaven with our mother Eve and did something forbidden. The Creator ordered them to easily benefit from all kinds of blessings but to stay away from a tree and its fruits. However, this prohibition was violated by our ancestors for various reasons. As a punishment, they were taken out of heaven and sent to the world. Their punishment was announced to them when they were sent to the world. I cannot convey it in the same words right now, but our father Adam was punished by working. In the heavenly book known as the Old Testament, this issue is also specifically mentioned; you will not reach any blessing without working, you will not be satisfied without working. This struggle to make ends meet is an inheritance from our ancestor and the first human, Adam. I would like to write more about this subject, but I am writing this much for now because I am worried that our main subject will get lost. In fact, if you pay attention, the greatest reward in the heavenly scenario that heavenly religions offer to people as a reward is the effortless blessing.

I have also experienced my share in this life in terms of making a living. Family is very important here. Because if your father or grandfather leaves you an established business, you inherit that and continue on. Look, I am not saying that you will not have trouble, I am saying that you continue on what you have. But if there is nothing, you need to try harder. Trying harder requires working harder, and working harder means more punishment, according to the calculation I mentioned above. I have always been on the side of those who try hard. There was no business that I could continue that I inherited from my grandfather or father. In fact, there were no commodities such as houses, plots of land, fields, gardens, or money as inheritances. My grandfather and father were people who could barely feed themselves throughout their lives. Maybe their struggle for life is as tough as mine, I don't know. There are many different people and different kinds of human behaviors in this struggle for life. Some are malicious. They think that they are already in a bad situation, let's adapt to the conditions and take illegal paths. In other words, whatever comes to mind; gambling, theft, fraud, alcoholism, substance abuse, vandalism and many other lifestyles are preferred. I have met many people around me who have made such choices. Some people listen to the good inside them and want to choose the legal path. They work, work hard, sweat, make an effort, do not want to hurt or upset people; they work and work to overcome the bad situation they are in. But while society spends all its resources on the person in the first example, it does not even look at the person in the second example. It puts in so much effort to correct the bad that it acts as if it does not have the energy and resources to get the good out of the bad situation. I say this as someone who has experienced this situation many times. In fact, I have often thought of giving up being good and becoming bad. But nature does not change. But no one cares about the starfish that wash up on the shore, everyone is after the sharks.

In short, the second reason why I do not always prefer pessimistic and gloomy subjects in my writings is undoubtedly that people do not demand good things. People prefer poets and writers who share their anger and sorrow, not their joy and happiness. In other words, take a look at award-winning novels, poems, essays, plays, movies, and TV series. They are all based on a tragedy. So people want to read about feelings such as sadness, anger, hatred, revenge, suffering, war, fight, and ambition. When this is the case, I mostly touched on these subjects in my writings. They were not subjects that I was unfamiliar with anyway. Since I experienced them myself, I had no difficulty writing.

I know people will not like them at all, but I feel so good right now. I was in a depressed mood at the beginning of the article. I had a bad dream the night before, I was tired, I was discouraged. But the more I wrote, the more I felt relieved, and the more I felt relieved, the better I wrote. So it was good for me. But still, do not know me well, do not turn your back on me. It is not possible to look for a logical structure in most human behaviors. As in the camel metaphor; where is the truth in us?

[dexbimter]

Quality and Quantity

Quality is often more important than quantity. You can't get through the winter with ten kilograms of coal, but you can get through all the winters of your life with ten kilograms of gold. The same applies to the people around you. There may be dozens of people around you, but in fact there is not one person you can rely on during difficult times. However, sometimes you only have one friend, and that friend can support you throughout your life.

[dexbimter]

THE COLOR OF MY TRAUMA İS CHİCK YELLOW

In my early youth, when I had not yet emerged from childhood, I bought small chicks with shiny yellow feathers from the market. I was not one of those people who easily emerged from childhood and entered adolescence and then adulthood. While my peers had already entered adolescence and were starting to dream of being a jinn, I had not even had a single pimple on my forehead. This could of course be due to genetic factors or malnutrition. However, I think the real reason was that I tried to grow up without a mother or father. I think it was also due to my stupidity, which was called naive in Anatolia, unlike my peers. People do not want to admit this situation to themselves easily, but I was stupid at that age and I still think I am stupid. A person should know what it is. Of course, in order to eliminate this stupidity that I mentioned, I read books, wrote articles, watched documentaries and even listened to classical music as some people mentioned, even though I did not like classical music. In other words, Beethoven, Mozart or Vivaldi did nothing to eliminate my stupidity. In the end, I accepted this stupidity and internalized it. I didn't have a sharp mind, I either didn't understand what was said or misunderstood it, I wasn't someone who had a quick response. But other than that, I can clearly say that I was a loyal and responsible person. I have a strong memory and my instinct for ownership is also quite strong. Of course, all of these appear as characteristics of stupidity. Because people with sharp minds don't have very good memories, they don't like stability very much, they can't be said to be loyal and they can easily get rid of their responsibilities with their quick wit. For example, when someone says something to me, it's not really possible for me to understand what they mean unless they say it clearly. I don't regret this issue much anymore. It's definitely not a lie that I used to regret it a lot and was quite touchy about it.

My mother and father divorced when I was six. My father was a violent, sadistic sociopath, so my mother could not stand it and ran away from home. My father was an ignorant man who thought it was his right to beat women. After my mother was beaten many times until she was hospitalized, she ran away from home and they separated, never to see each other again. However, there was a not-so-small detail: it was as if my mother had divorced not only my father but also me and my younger brother. I never saw my mother again after that. I also did not witness my mother demanding or wanting to see me. I think my mother identified her children with the bad behavior and violence she had seen from my father and for this reason she had become estranged from us. My father and mother were poor people. My father was unemployed for a long time. Of course, being blacklisted during the 1980 coup played a big role in his unemployment. I know that society does not welcome poor and widowed women being single. I think that is why my mother got married a year or two after the divorce. My father also got married just to spite my mother. I witnessed my father's second marriage. Those were very difficult and boring years for me and my brother. I think my father remembered his previous marriage and his ex-wife when he looked at us and treated us very badly. He had taken his second wife from the village. It was obvious that it was a rushed marriage. Violence was also quite common in this marriage. However, my father, who was very young and I think could not even read and write, later learned with pain that his second wife had a habit of wetting her bed at night. We had another sibling from my father's second wife but he did not live long. According to the stories, my father, who was very fond of sleeping, may have crushed the baby while he was sleeping. I remember very well that the little baby died one evening. I remember very clearly the little baby being washed on a small wooden table in the evening and the strong smell of soap. Now whenever I smell that smell, it reminds me of death. After our little brother died, my father left this wife as well. He had a few more attempts at a matchmaker. I had no idea what my mother was doing during these times. Because after my mother left, it was as if everyone had made an agreement and even talking about my mother was forbidden. I remember from that time how painful the word mother was (and still is) a word.

There was a stranger at breakfast one morning. An old man, I would later learn who he was, was the father of the woman my father wanted. He wanted to see me and my brother. Of course, we were unaware of all this. The man did not like us and did not give the woman to my father. I think my father was very resentful of this incident. He treated us very badly. Then he moved to another city and got married there. My brother and I stayed with my grandmother and grandfather. After my father got married, we stayed at his house for a week. However, no matter what my stepmother did, she created the perception that she could not get along with us. My father completely gave up on us. As a result, my little brother and I stayed at my grandmother's house. We saw my father once or twice a year during the semester breaks. Sometimes he would call me, that was all. Now, I think these years that I briefly mentioned may have caused me to be a younger teenager and a later adult than my peers. Of course, this may be the basis of the stupidity issue I mentioned.

I put the small yellow, shiny-feathered chicks I bought from the market in a cardboard box. I think they were the first ones. My grandmother didn’t like pets at home, but she had chickens and a chicken coop in the garden. I guess that’s why she didn’t say much to these chicks. I also put fine bulgur, bread and water in a small tea plate inside the box. I would come and look at the chicks. They were very cute and lovely creatures. I was even afraid to pick up the chicks and hurt them. But I can’t tell you how happy I was to have them. I was even jealous of my brother for the chicks. I was afraid my brother would hurt the chicks. We had covered the cardboard box with an old muslin of my grandmother’s. I would open the muslin every now and then and watch what they were doing. We had also spread newspaper at the very bottom of the cardboard box. I even found the cute little feces of the chicks cute. The way they slept, snuggled up together, was something else worth watching. I had even forgotten about the television and playing outside. These chicks were the most beautiful things I had ever had in my life.

When my brother opened the gauze on the box, I was sad and jealous of my brother for the chicks. My brother;

- Brother, can I have it? I remember very clearly even now how worried I was when he asked.

I was afraid he would harm the chicks. Then, of course, it was evening. I don’t remember which month or year it was. My grandmother was telling me to leave the chicks alone. As soon as evening came, the chicks made sleeping sounds and huddled together. I wanted them to be by my bed. But my grandmother said that wasn’t possible. At that time, I put the chicks by the window of the room on the west side of the house that we used as the kitchen. Then I started watching TV. I remember that that room was on the west side, so that as evening came, sunlight would filter through the window.

I had long forgotten about the chicks after dinner and TV. Then I got sleepy and, as usual, a bed was made for me and my brother in the living room. I fell asleep as soon as I went to bed. I, who normally sleeps soundly, woke up many times that night. I would wake up hearing chicks chirping. Chirping echoed like a scream, and I couldn't make sense of it. I was afraid to get out of bed. I woke up like this at least four or five times. But in the end, sleep always won out.

In the morning, I woke up to a sunny day. I had woken up later than usual because my sleep was constantly interrupted at night. I could hear my grandmother’s voices. She seemed to be complaining in a very sad way. When I got out of bed and went to the pergola in front of the house, I saw my grandmother with the box where I had put the chicks. The chicks were lying in the sun all the way. All of them had died except one. I remember feeling very, very sad about this. My grandmother was trying to warm one of them in a thick cloth. This bad situation happened like this; the window where I had put the chicks was a single-pane window with old-fashioned wooden frames. The place we were in was completely in the middle of Central Anatolia, in other words, the heart of the continental climate. No matter how hot it was during the day, at night and especially in the mornings, it could be so cold that frost would fall and even frosty. Even the poor chicks huddling together could not keep them warm. They had frozen to death by morning. I knew very well that this death did not happen all at once. Those sounds that I could not understand at night were the chicks’ cries for help. However, I did not understand these. I often thought that I might not have understood this because of my stupidity and thick head that I mentioned.

That last remaining chick also died a few hours later. I had lost the cutest and most pleasant beings he had had up until then, all in one night. Moreover, they had woken me up with their screams and asked for help many times during the night. I was very, very upset. This sadness was also accompanied by the regret of not being able to respond to their cries for help during the night. I could not even cry because of the sadness. I looked at the chicks' bodies one last time and then buried them in the garden. The next week, chicks were being sold at the market again, but I felt guilty. For this reason, I could never go near the place where the chicks were sold. I had no money anyway.

This trauma has followed me step by step throughout my life. I can still hear the screams of those chicks at night sometimes. Because of this trauma, I can never be sure of my decisions. I think, what if all I do means not hearing someone's cries for help? I can never be sure of any step I take. I ask people what they want to say over and over again to be sure. But even if I want to, I can never be sure of anything.

Later, from my personal experiences and what I learned at the faculty, chicks need to crawl under their mothers' wings to keep from getting cold, or the heat of an old-fashioned 100-candle bulb can help them get rid of the cold at night. But I didn't know this at the time. My ignorance caused me to lose the things I loved the most. I was always afraid of losing, so much so that I often never gained anything in order not to lose.

Life is an interesting teacher and has many different ways of teaching. Just as these chicks need their mother's warm wings at night and in the cold, a person needs their mother's spiritual wings to warm their soul as a child. My soul, like these chicks, froze in the cold and no one heeded my cries for help. My current naivety, feeling like a stranger no matter where or with whom, is partly because of this. I can't love anyone and I can't believe anyone loves me. Because my soul has always been left out in the cold.

[dexbimter]

WİTH YOU

If it weren't for waking up from the deepest sleep, After a sleepless night, Morning morning.

If it weren't for crying when a leaf falls to the ground, Or when a flower dies, Spring is spring.

And if it weren't for your love when the roses bud and bloom, When the swallows fly, Day by day.

Maybe it would be easier to live.

That is, without expectations, As they say, like grass, As if grass doesn't live.

You know I won't give up sunny days, From the rain and the smell of soil, And from the yellow wheat ears, And from your coal-black eyes.

I wake up to the day loving you, I look at the stars loving you, I breathe and live loving you, And I hold on to life loving you.

You know, I don't understand roundabout ways, I can't explain myself often, I'm ashamed of crying, To tell you. My mind has remained in the old times, Like my heart has remained in you. I walk through life slowly, From old cobblestones, you know.

I may not be able to catch up with your new century.

But even if a million years pass, Love is the same love, I am the same me, And you will still be beautiful. I know. Maybe I want to be free, From your era that you never let dust enter. Maybe even to sleep a little, With you…

[dexbimter]

I am the Shrine of the Gold of Feet

“I am the Shrine of the Gold of Feet”, A raindrop falling on the ground, The moisture on a rose petal in the morning. Longing for the sun in the shadow of sadness, A withered flower, No hope opens in my heart, No intention.

If I crawl on the ground, I will turn into a particle, My ashes will be blown away in the wind, My dreams will be scorched by my longing, While everyone starts, I will end. No sound or trace will remain from me, My cry is echoless, I can never reach any destination, My suffering, my pains are gifts from my destiny.

I am a branch broken underfoot, I am a lost carpet melting with time. I am somewhere between existence and non-existence, I am longing for endless voids, My suffering will never end, my pain will never end.

Oh man, The ground you step on is mine, Even though my tears do not stop, my soul is cool. While the seal of non-existence has been stamped on my existence, This body longing for peace and happiness, “I am the tomb of the ground under your feet.”

[dexbimter]

What do you say?

Let my mind be enlightened, Until there is no nook or cranny left. Let the light of my mind guide my body, Let my soul be bronze like gold, In the light of the same sun. Maybe then I will live longer, I will be less sad. My state of not being able to live will be erased from time, Maybe then I will be content with what is my lot. I will leave my ideas to the complacency of thinking.

My dreams, Like the horse carriage I chase, A legacy from my childhood. Whether I catch up or not, The owner with the whip is quite angry, While trying not to be seen, Maybe life won't notice me while I'm running towards my dreams, Maybe it won't crack its whip on my back, Maybe I won't look after my dreams in pain this time.

I breathe with hope, I eat hope, I drink hope, I sleep with hope every night, I wake up with hope every morning. My bread, my food, my brother, My refuge, my hiding, my heartbreak My everything is hope.

My hands are cold, My back is dark. My body has turned to the light of my mind, My eyes are dazzled by the brightness of my soul.

If I force a few words, They will surely come out of my lips. But I choose to remain silent, To listen and rest.

What do you say, Can my soul rest in the sweetness of my dreams?

[dexbimter]

[dexbimter]

[dexbimter]

[dexbimter]