Ain't say more...
I won't listen anymore;
Every plasma inside me burning
Screams up in one word: "ENOUGH".


Ain't say more...
None of the livings listened
When I tried to articulate: I'm different,
Now, my tries outpour in one world: enough.


Ain't say more...
It's the end, listen to me;
My presence has been a torment to me,
As for all of us, then, end listening: enough.


Ain't say more...
Just listen to my absence;
It has no sound, nothing all at once,
Then, believe in my nonexistence: it's enough.


Ain't say more...
The memory is horrible,
Maybe, just as I was, only a bad riddle
That a child enjoys, but the others scream up on it: ENOUGH.

My head's so heavy,
                                    it would tremble the ground
after a gracious swish
                                         of a guillotine.


Not a grass stills steady,
                                            not an ear stays uncovered
from the epidemic noise
                                             leaving my head.


Only god knows the loss,
                                             the caused damage
by my freeing thoughts
                                          escaping the unworldly world.


No one could count
                                    all that good I could bring
all that bad I absorbed
                                         while living.


Now, with my head low,
                                           my thoughts may find peace
on glorious gadgets
                                     far from my macabre mind.

If my disappointment dressed in wrath,
It would rumble in hell-flames and chaos,
Reaching the gates of the seven heavens
Asking for justice with the blood of pathos.


All good feelings made out of nothing-
Just as the lightsome grab of a baby's hand,
Or either heavy as a smile, making compliment-
Shall be enclosed far away of the worldly hell of pathos.


Since, the heavenly drops of happiness
Are drunk up by stone hearted human greyogles,
Playing hazardous games with my rare happiness,
And leaving me in a chaos-like hellfire with my dear pathos.

Like sprinkling dust on the paper,
Moulding itself into mud;
Sound the words of the pauper,
Forming his tears into flood.


His need is not a bigger pocket,
Or a fam of a good blood;
His thirst made him a bitter poet,
Being lost in the flood.


Flood of a baby's first cry to the world,
Seeing everything newly indifferent;
He wishes for a straight world unwhirled,
Wishing not being so different.


Dirting the paper with stolen words,
From sloppy worlds of others;
The pauper gets deeper in his thirst,
And goner in others'.


Sodden paper-pieces in the mud,
Like flood-brought thrashes;
But they didn't came with the flood,
Just from a former poet's ashes.

I'm just a pocket poet -
No great ballad, no any sonnet,
I'm just a poet.


If it hurts I write -
Asking none if I'm right,
I just write.


I'm writing a stupid story -
That's running on another storey,
Away from everybody.


If it's hurt I hide
My words in my pockets' slide,
I just write.


When I'll stop this hobby,
People may find my pocket on a storey,
Maybe, I will have a story.

I would cry for help,
                                    but nobody cares.
The one who cares
                                   shares with me no affairs.


Like a naughty boy
                                  who's forbidden from any good,
I'm playing sullen
                                 without any mood.

Once upon a morning dreary,
On a wibbly-wobbly urban prairie,
I hit the road barely fearing -
As the fool who has no fearing -
And there came a car.


In a sudden, asked is it the end,
I'm not surprised, but how to pretend,
While I am always steering -
Just as badly as the driver's steering -
My emotions behind a striped bar.


Since the moment was so sneaky,
And the car's break creaked up creepy,
At least for the people seeing -
Hearing, if people were ever existing -
And not just imaginaire.


In that second's timeless land,
I had no social expression to send,
Signing to them that I'm living -
Lying to them I'm a human being -
So, I just stood bare.


And behind that timeless scene,
Angry drivers and people were seen,
With me standing there -
A guilty criminal sharing his despair -
A social monster without cover.