There was a war.
Poverty to feel,
It was fate to die.
There was a work.
Strain to feel,
It was worth to work.
There was a humankind.
Created,
Borned.
And died.
Rocked on the swing.
In his hand with a piece of a bagel.
They felt into poverty.
It was a dream to poverty,
Black death to feel.
At the end of the work, had to be created.
Jealous humankind,
Were killed.
Were slaves,
The feels,
They are just a log.
As if,
Everything and anything beyond.
They were tied up.
But at the same time they were lie.
The feels,
Were creation.
The feels,
Were humankind.
The feels,
A wise man,
And his table.
They,
They were just investigating data.
The feels,
An enormous creator,
And eternity.
They,
They are slaves to feel,
Tiny humankind.
ŞİMDİ OKUDUĞUN
SENİN İÇİN / FOR YOU
PoetryEvet, hepsi o gün başladı.Zamanın durduğu yerde, işte benim başlangıcım hüküm sürdü.Onu tanıdığım ilk andan beridir benim... İmkansıza inanırsanız eğer; şiirlerimi bu yüzden yazıyorum, içimdeki acıyı söndürmek için. Kendisi her ne kadar aşkı bil...
