slowly
cells of the sky absorbs The septic blood
slowly...
Memory rots.
And slowly
Lavender cuts oneself.
Preferring to die until tomorrow morning ..
slowly...
We are standing like spiders in our dark rooms.
And spin the trap for ghosts of the underworld ..
slowly..
We rot with the septic blood of sky ...
We cry without tears or weep..

And when death is manifested;
These are the ruins of old dictionaries ..
Sponge language ..
And eagerness to displace ...
From its mean blazing winds
Death is not a thing
O ****** slave in the old cities ..
It's your crooked line
In the papyrus of the rainy deserts ..

I said: You and I are in the same boat;
because we are not exist..
The Lord said with a laugh:
- At least there's a boat.

All ancient metaphors
Old photos
Old memories
the old love
are just the wealth of the perplexed man
in this gelatinous existence

Your eyes
On the edge of meaning
Take nihilism away from my heart
And while I relive the past
I see you as Noah's ark
carrying pairs of lovers
And transfers them to a new existence.
We are the dreamers
who Stuck in the game of death
And the blessed love trick

The Story of Gypsy of Wind





dust has dissipated
When it rained
Gypsy sang
With his guitar, which he inherited from his father ..
The last farewell song ...
As he crosses the Earth
Without thinking of a terminal to reach
...

A fugitive from modernity.
From every paved road ..
Of all the twinkling constellations ..
From the noise of cities ..
From the gloom of government buildings.
The gypsy diverges,
Evading sandy roads.
He meets the boys of the villages ..
He sings and they dance..
He passes near the peasant women with red hair covers.
He plays love tunes for them.
Until their cheeks flush ...
He meets the shepherds ... and avoids them ...
he receives the wide plains
With bright eyes
And on his back
He hung up his guitar, which he inherited from his father.
.....

The gypsy meets the girl of his dreams.
But he leaves her to continue trekking.
Gypsy knows no boundaries ..
He does not know what warm rooms mean.
He does not know what daily work means.
He does not know what school means ..
Because he does not want to learn ..
Rather, he should live on the road.
....

The gypsy has no identity papers.
But he does not know what the meaning of stained papers and seals.
The gypsy does not know power ..
when he meets the mayor of the village
he Whoops:
Why do they obey you when they are free ..
The gypsy knows no hunger ..
Because he eats anything in nature.
Flowers and butterflies ..
Rivers mud ...
Then he pulls his guitar from his back.
And he goes on trekking
He plays a song that tells about a dream
With the warmth of a beautiful woman's chest.
Gypsy travels after the spring.
as if he tied with a rope..
He does not like winter ..
He does not like summer ..
He does not like autumn ..
Like birds in the sky ..
Gipsy follows the scent of silt and nectar.
He points with his finger to the distant horizon:
- It rained there..
He plays a rain song ...
.....

What do you have, gypsy?
The bar girl asks him
In transit hours standing
He says: What do you mean by the word "you have"?
The gypsy has nothing ..
Because he has everything.
He has his freedom ..
A girl spends a night with him
Then she expels him from her arms in the morning
So he takes up his guitar
And he sings in tears over his broken heart.
Passing through plains and mountains ..
To where he does not know
....

Truck drivers meet him
They offer to get him to where he wants..
But he refuses ..
He doesn't want to miss a moment without being in the heart of nature ...
Sings
Consuming time with his guitar
His guitar, which he inherited from his father ..
His father who does not know him ...
But what his mother told him before her death
when they were traveling on the way ..
He buries her ..
And he prays for her soul..
Without knowing which god he is praying to..
He smiles ..
And he goes on its eternal journey
.....

When crossing forests..
He is surrounded by hyenas.
He pulls his guitar and sings.
The hyenas watched him in amazement.
they remain amazed as they snaps his flesh..
And he is still singing
Playing his guitar
His guitar, which he inherited from his father ..
His father who never knew him ..

Drawing in the dark
___


I often ask myself
Is it possible to draw in the dark?
There you always glorify me ..
As a great idea in the head of a submerged novelist
As a metaphor, a poet wrote one poem and went on ...
In the dark you hide the tender spirit
And songs for Spring that never comes
I'm asking my self..
How do I paint you in the dark ..
When I ****** your features from the Wish Nebula ..
imprison it in the memory of meaning.
How do I document that confused moment
To be discovered by an archaeologist after thousands of years.
In the ruins of my skull ..
My laughing, sarcastic skull ...