Who said I'm a poet? No, I'm not a poet. I just sit there on the river bank celebrating your great flood.  It's every waterfall and breeze from the pure balcony where the voice is free and every story has no end.
Yes, I am not a poet but I can count the beats of my heart honestly, and see the features of light in your eyes clearly. As for those dark walls, they do not hear the call nor see your beautiful eyes because their hearts are gray and their hands are yellow.
Yes, I am not a poet but when your hand touches my heart, I see the depths and I burn without tears.

I asked every rose in our garden and every tree near our house to tell you frankly: Every year I love you more. Today, in this charming morning I spoke seriously with the sun, and we decided to tell you one fact: Every year I love you more. It is the last night of December and what I really remember are our moments where I love you more. Now, on this night, specifically in this intimate winter moment, I listen well to you and how Every year I love you more.  When I sit next to you, I love you more, and when I talk to you, I love you more. In fact, every moment I love you more, and every year I love you more.

I will smile this morning with all my strength, its silky threads remind me of your wonderful radiance, and its colorful birds remind me of your delicate tales that plant everything unforgettable inside me. Oh sun, isn't it strange that we meet in a boat of wishes and fleeing dreams? Where your golden hand weaves paths that know no calm. Back then, I was a free wild bird carrying in its heart every story that knew nothing about volcanoes. Isn't it strange that you have all this dew? Like a kiss that dyes my soul with the colors of the rainbow, so I take out in the midst of astonishment a delicate ear of wheat that overflows with happiness from your eyes, its beginning.
This is me, oh sun, a pile of undulating outpourings; I sail towards your glowing magic that knows no night or sleep. There; longing fills the very warm streams and embraces the very warm trees, so I vanish like a tale that knows no distances.

It is very easy to kiss a flower or to travel far to the east on a long night. It is also very easy to sing in the evening when the wind caresses your cheeks like a butterfly dancing among the trees. Oh, the trees, how they love to touch the face of the river, like this with complete spontaneity. How often you told me about walking among colorful paths and that it is something that delights the heart. Perhaps one day I will find a thread or a hand to walk with. But I remember the features of bright faces that we met on evenings filled with the breeze. How their captivating fragrance dazzled me. How often we drew with us a grave, a field, and an old hat. And we breathed the dawn like new travelers who came from far away. They only spend the night among the hills and their eyes only smile among unforgettable waterfalls.

How warm is your voice. And how I love to burn in my longing for you like a candle. Then I fly in your wide space like hot leaves floating on the surface of the water carrying all the wishes.
Oh, the warmth of your eyes that envelop me with fragrance like bouquets of roses confessing to you every morning that you are something sweet. This is how I shine in my longing for you, but I become weak before your green eyes because they are simply incredible.

Isn't it nice to live in a time that fills you with love?  So, I became more transparent and smiled.  Don't you feel that many of those stars have come together? There is little left to shine love.  Yes, I know, and I know it is a matter of love, and it told me about the deep gaze.  So, extend your hand to shake hands with the depths and overcome the strange absence.  Yes, I will and we will celebrate. Imagine if I were sitting on the hill and not talking to you, what would be the fate of love?  Yes, the fate of love; It is a matter of love.