It’s the little things in life
That make all the difference
Like saying good morning
Smiling at someone
Saying thank you
Offering a hug
That brighten up a mood

That sweeten a day
Lift someone up
Lighten the world just a bit

Like saying good morning
Offering a compliment
Sharing a joke
Laughing
That make all the difference

It’s the little things in life
That make the difference

tip toes to an imaginary line
drawn in the sand,
speaks in shadows,

tenderness, raw and sharp.

raised by wolves
she chews to the bone.

kiss the wind
my love is gone.

Who am I in this world we call Earth, and our home
By species, I am a human being, supposedly master of all other species
We were made to look after and care for this planet called Earth

Instead we have ravaged, plundered and ***** the planet earth
In our blind quest to obtain control and dominance over all

Are humans masters or slaves of their egos, their pride
Humans believe they are invincible, they can do anything, to anyone
Man's greatest enemy is man himself, a beast beyond all beasts
So, who am I, man, the master or man, the beast of all beasts

I am two sides of the same coin, the master and the beast
There is a struggle inside of me for dominance, for control
Sometimes the master wins, other times the beast wins


I fear, I fear the beast will gain control and dominance over me
I have seen the power of the beast unleashed, a madness, a rage
A madness, a rage only a beast from hell can possess, it scares me

So, who am I, man, the master or the beast from hell
It's very difficult to know, as I keep changing all the time
Will someone please tell me, please tell me, please tell me
Who am I, Who am I, Who am I

My dad is a hero
He works so hard
      Just for us
He looks so busy all the
         Time
He comes back home
        İn the evening
Never forgetting my toys
        In this fuss
My brother and i love him
                To nuts

Ragpicker

Among life's ***** rags,
I walk like a ragpicker, rummaging,
cleaning life with rags and poems.
Poems that are sometimes soft and other times, not,
among the garments of life, among the clamor of living.
Among rags that help us clean even the soul,
and with clothes that turn us into disguised souls.
Rags to see that in the end, we are all worn-out rags.
I am a ragpicker of life, collecting rags and transforming them.
With my handkerchiefs, with my soft cloths among my discards,
rebuilding life in words, a ragpicker of poems.
Scorned by all and taking what no one wants,
in my sea where sometimes the waves are handkerchiefs,
those white rags, cloths of seawater.
Singing to the life that falls apart on me,
like old rags that are gone,
and are sometimes recycled.