If you don’t have it, money’s everything.
But once you do, it’s not the only king.
It’s just a medium — not the final goal.
Yet still, it plays a very vital role.

Azerbaijani Turkic version:

Pul, olmasa, hər nədir.پول، اوْلماسا، هر نه‌دیر
Olsa, sanma hər nədir. اولسا، سانما هر نه‌دیر
Aracdır, amac deyil, آراج‌دیر، آماج دئییل
Gərək ola hər nədir. گره‌ک اوْلا هر نه‌دیر

Creativity is an opening,
A struggle fraught with doubt,
Unlikely to produce something beautiful,
Yet reverberations mount,
A gathering of half-ideas now
Open to others to make once
Yours, fully theirs, a bow
To the dimming pulse
Of an idea meant to endow

Life is an empty void—A mistake that happened on purpose. I would know, after all I created it. But whom created me? I am a curse—what if the god in the sky never knew what put them there? The day I existed was a day before “day” was created. Looked at my hands and saw a glove and never knew the wearer. Like someone without a story I decided to create one. Let there be light, let there be shoes, let there be meaning and a star and flute. I need answers on why I am the puppet man—on why I exist.

I created life to find the meaning of my own. The first thing I ever saw was nothingness I wish I was like other gods with answer to all, but the only question I can answer is what breed of dog you have. I called life a tree as joke—but people took it seriously. Why do I eat? Why do I cry? What is true meaning? How does it feel to die? I wish I was a mortal so being controlled will not hurt. Why is life? Why do I live?

I am tired of pulling this strings. But if I was to let go I don't know what would happen. A philosopher once asked me, "If you are all great and mighty, create a question you can't answer." I already did. Someone said meaning is in the absurd. My existence is absurd not meaningful.

it passed me by
only reading about
that cosmic marvel
the morning after
not quite a "once
in a lifetime" event
yet some would say
special enough
significant even
to pause and reflect
on synchronicity
interconnectedness
everything

there was a time
where i might have
been disappointed
to miss a sight
as rare as
they claimed this
occurrence was to be;
seven of our neighbours
visible simultaneously
five with the naked eye
the other two with
the aid of a telescope

but i don't
need to witness
a celestial dance
such as this
pointing uncertainly
with uncertainty
at what might be
one of the planets
to be reminded
that our stars
have already aligned

these words retained, their authorship lost and unresolved,
but their siren sounding ringing, ding ding dinging;
resoundingly and unresolved:

we do not always, indeed, hardly ever safe harbor the true origin and
the true meaning of  our memories, but they come returning to us with accompanied shrouded shuddering, so oft, for frequent "EX'ing:"

Excellent exhilaration, expiration,
exhalation, variant explanations,
and unsatisfactory excitations but
never any finality of finale
exiting

the memories and the meanings
return modified, encumbered by
prior visionings, and the meaning
further twisted, their import
un lessened, until some resolution
is reached required retained
and a new memory is formed,
perhaps imagined,
perhaps not,
nonetheless
the siren sounds, the mind alerted,
we commence daily, nightly
to reimagine what we once imagined...even
endings...
nml

What do I want? The meaning, I guess.
But only such as can fill me whole,
All my gaps and all my holes.
Yes, I want such meaning, I guess.

What else, you ask me? Freedom, I guess.
Where I won’t be in the grips,
Where the pain won’t throb in my temples.
Yes, I want such freedom, I guess.

What do I dream of? Silence, I guess.
No sounds, no creaks, no rustles at all,
A calm pulse and the air in whole.
Yes, I dream of such silence, I guess.

In the beginning, the universe was simple
hydrogen adrift, uniform, featureless.
No spark. No shape. No meaning.

Then came gravity. the invisible hand that pulled atoms toward each other.
Not out of need, but out of attraction.
It didn’t shout. It didn’t rush.
It simply drew things closer.

And in that closeness? Friction. Heat. Fire.
Stars were born.
Inside those stars: gold, carbon, diamond, uranium, the rare, the radiant, the necessary.
Then came life. Then came us.

Without gravity, the universe would have remained cold. Silent. Pointless.
With it, it sang.

So too with love.

We, too, begin as scattered selves.
Drifting. Guarded. Independent.
Then someone enters our orbit
not violently, but undeniably…
and we feel pulled.

And when love is real - not forceful, but fundamental - it becomes gravity.

It creates heat where there was indifference.
It forges meaning where there was monotony.
It makes the rarest things - trust, sacrifice, ecstasy, forgiveness… possible.

Without love, we remain inert.
With it, we combust into something bigger than ourselves.

Not every force is loud.
Some reshape the cosmos… quietly, persistently - one touch at a time.

when i die,
i refuse to be a nameless grave
marked by a chunk of stone
in the earth

when i die,
i want flowers to be planted
over where i lay
so new life may grow from me

when i die,
i wish to be neat and pretty
a contrast to how i've been in life
frenetic and disorganised

when i die,
will i be remembered?
or will memories of me fade too soon?
and i will turn to dust
we will all slowly turn to dust