I remember well,
I wrote my first poem with a knife:
In the pistachio tree,
My name together with that girl's name:
Bahtiyar + so-and-so = love.
It wasn't hard to print then:
Knife, forest,
And "forest ranger - editor".
Then I wrote my poem with charcoal.
I drew hearts on the walls,
And crossed arrows went through that heart.
Then they replaced the knife with a pen.
At that time, the forest ranger wouldn't say anything,
But the editors found a hundred excuses.
Those editors
Who couldn't be a poet
Became an editor out of necessity.
...The shepherd said: "Your sheep gave birth!"
How much I was in a hurry
To see the newborn lamb,
Now I'm not in a hurry
To buy a newspaper from the kiosk
Which my poem was printed in.
I know that the editor changed something.
I grew up.
The villains wrote “poems” with a knife on my back.
They really shot my heart with an arrow.
That forest guard is no more,
Nor that shepherd,
Nor that time, nor that lover, nor that love, nor that purity.
Nor that forest...
They cut down that forest and made newspapers.
Lies are written in those newspapers,
And the poems of those who cannot be poets are published.
In those newspapers, only the date of the month is correct.
They cut down that forest and extracted coal.
They eat my dreams like kebabs.
Now the situation is like this:
Bahtiyar + sadness = worse sadness.
In short,
Like an orphan lamb, I am an angel.
This is still a good situation -
A knife has not been drawn to my throat.
My first love remained
Like a wound
On the trunk of that tree.
The oppressors destroyed it too.
The walls that I had built around that heart collapsed;
Those walls fell on memories.
...They eat my dreams like kebabs.
Their smoke has blinded me.
I can't find a wall to hold on to and walk on,
But for me
The world has become four walls.
And I forgot the time -
Thank God there are those newspapers.
I look at the date of the month -
The date of an unknown month,
The date of an unknown month.
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 1:19 PM UTC
The sky is the color of dishwater,
The clouds never move.
We all hate the darkness of winter, the endless gray.
But I wonder,
Do the clouds feel hurt?
We find their very existence an aversion.
They did nothing wrong.
Can we show them any love?
I can’t.
But I wish I could.
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 1:15 PM UTC
I would go back in time and see you.
Spend the day.
You're telling me all your dreams,
Reading all your words.
That day I’d give you all the love you need,
Make you feel seen,
Make you feel real.
I’d let you take my hand and show me all your places.
Play your games.
Let you know you aren’t alone.
Let you know you aren’t all those words he said.
Give you the best day of your life.
I’d take you where you never got to go.
Let the light in your eyes flood out and brighten the sky.
Breathe in the breeze and not feel afraid.
Climb that hill and show me the life in the clouds.
Evening light shows them smiling down at us.
I’d tell you that I see them too.
You are special, but you aren’t alone.
Little fingers cold and covered in dirt.
When the day eventually turns to night, I’d watch you fall asleep.
While you’re dreaming,
No fear in your mind,
Waiting for the next day,
I’d cover your face and let you sleep forever.
Saving you from becoming me.
As my eyes grow dark,
I remember a man.
He was so kind.
I can’t wait to wake up.
To play another day.
Feb 17
Feb 17, 2026 at 10:07 AM UTC
A knight who couldn’t save the princess, her hair just wasn’t long enough.
A girl who’s still sleeping, because no one was there to give her a kiss in the dark.
Dragons are always too strong.
I’m still sitting here day after day, no one’s coming to break me free.
Glass slippers only make you bleed as you run away.
She threw herself down a hole because the mad people were up here.
People’s noses don’t grow when they lie.
But I grow. Growing too old for a happy ending.
She gave up her gift, her family, and her world. But he didn’t stay. She’s on the beach, waiting for high tide.
There’s no beauty in her beast. Only a prisoner. Only here to die.
No one will guess the boy’s name. They already know hers. Too busy spinning gold that they don’t even notice when he kicks the chair.
I tried to be a princess, to wear a crown on my head.
The End
Feb 16
Feb 16, 2026 at 2:39 PM UTC