Friday, August 17

It is not about

It is not about how you feel the loneliness,
It is about how loneliness can't even look at the mirror,
Each time you feel yourself all alone,
Taking a ship into the dark,
Sailing into the every time new waves,
Knowing the destiny awaits you at the same corner,
But it is not about the destiny awaiting you,
It is about what the destiny awaits from you,
Each time you feel yourself empty,
Taking a look into the dark,
Sailing to the thoughts of every time new hopes,
Knowing it will be different this time,
But it is not about this time being different,
It is about what you will do to make it different this time..

Thursday, December 28


"Is it the time that flies by, or is it just the older getting stories of a old looking young heart?" asked the poet to the child looking with dark olive eyes as if the poet would be giving him the best toy with his next sentence. The sentence did not come, neither the toy..

"His fingers are touching the keys so softly, that the tone does not want to sound. It doesn't break my heart, it doesn't let a tear drop fall down. It is this distance between taking me away from what I am, making me someone I would want to be, someone I can't handle to be..". The silence was filling in the room with the pause of the dance of the fingers on the keys. "This is not my dance, it has never been.." A small bouquet of light fell in through the almost covered window. Slowly, softly sat down on top of his shoulder. "This is not my dance.."

"A spring waltz shall be our melody. The guests should feel as if they enter a fairy tale when they enter this room. They mustn't even blink for every moment being worth to see.." Her voice shattered in last words. Her voice disappeared into her watery eyes. "Every moment.." she said, "..every moment".. He was not listening any more. The words became meaningless already. The sound became too much to hear. He wanted to go away. He wanted to go. He wanted..

It is always the naughty child of the day to blame for the bad, ugly and sad. Not because everything and everyone is looking the same, not because every breath is colder and every word is heavier. When the shadows go to sleep, when the colors feel tired.. When the naughty child of the day comes out to play all by himself. It doesn't ask those everything and everyone to join him. He doesn't say a word.. Like a shy bird, suspiciously looking to food in the hand of a stranger.. Like a shy bird, doesn't want to fly..

"How many of yourselves will you talk to, to find yourself your self that you would like to stay alone with?". He made a face as if the question was too long to listen. "How many of yourselves will you want to experience before you get tired?". Like a small school child, he looked at his hands, his fingers. For a moment, he was about to find himself counting them. He didn't. "Do you realize that you are hurting yourself more than you are hurting your other selves?". He looked outside from the window. "What a crowded street!" he thought, "yet, there is no sound in the room except my own. The windows must be made from a good material.". He made a half turn to show his face towards where she was talking from. She was looking worried, but not scared, just worried. "When I saw her first, it was her eyes.." he remembered, " was still her eyes..". "This time, I talk to you, not to your other selves, just to you and you alone!". "So stubborn.." he thought. "Alone.. Interesting word..", he exhaled, longer than usual this time. "I need to speak silently, more silently, until I stop hearing myself. Maybe then, I can understand what I am talking about..", he exhaled again, shorter than usual this time..

"I want to dance on your lips with my lips. I want to write a poem with my fingers on your breasts. I want to sing a sonata with my breath on your thighs. Would you let me be your artist, my dear lady?". She smiled. Looking down with her eyes for a moment, then back towards his face. She wanted to find one small piece of dishonesty, a small glimpse of a lie.. There was none.. "Shall we dance?" She smiled.. "It is not my love, I am offering to you, my dear lady. I am offering you my passion, my obsession.." She looked at his inviting hand. "So many deep lines in his palms. So many old scars on his fingers.." she thought. "Today, I want to be all yours, my dear lady. You have to forgive my soul. He wants to fall in love with you first..". She smiled..

When you can't even cry for the harms people have done to you; and when your goodness started feeling like a stubborn goddess growing in yourself, which song will be rescuing you from your paralyzed existence? A step forward, a step back. Trying to unleash yourself from the bondage you left yourself in.. Is it even worth fighting? Is it even worth changing, when those around you are so far away from the changes you propose to them? What makes you believe that the goodness eventually will take over the change towards the good? The questions you don't know the answers from.. The like poems looking like never finishing, never going nowhere.. But they all do finish at some day. All poems will change some day.. And when the poet looks to the child, as if he would be waiting to take over his youth leaving him the old age, "Is it the time that flies by, or is it just the older getting stories of a old looking young heart?" he says.. She looks at the child with dark olive eyes as if the poet would be giving him the best toy with his next sentence. She smiles..

Wednesday, April 5

Lonely children

Children are born,
Lonely children of the earth,
Following a light full of pain..
Oh, how easy it would be,
To walk without going anywhere,...
Step away and rest a little..
Children become grown,
Up and down,
Up and down,
Fearing of the light in pain,
As strong as not to cry,
But no more, not any more..
In the witness of a sad song,
"People hearing without listening",
Children of yesterday,
Lonely children of the earth..

Saturday, September 10

Mr. Frodo Baggins

"Life" is an interesting stage, Mr. Frodo Baggins:

When the actions, that people call magic, become a part of the daily routine; and when the stands, that looks like incredible, become a usual of "here and now", it leaves a small space for excitement that is in fact so big, that nothing and no one seem to be able to fill it in..

And then, yet again, the "play" surprises you with the next act, when the curtain opens slowly: An elegant flow with the light as bright as the sunshine starts to roll. Even when the eyes get used to the bright shine, the act on the stage remains excitingly beautiful..

"Life" is an interesting stage, Mr. Frodo Baggins:

The next act is about to begin. Please don't forget to turn off your mobiles. Because it will be one of a kind of a play..

Saturday, July 9

Everyday of life

It is like the everyday of life,
Every single walk to be taken,
The eye opening curiosity,
The ticklish feeling of willingness,
The anxiety of the next step,...
The warm excitement of the unknown,
Along the chilly fear of the "what if"..
As simple and small
As the baby cat on the water lily pad,
As big as the world around;
It is like the every day of life,
Every single walk to be taken..

Friday, May 20

Far away

Uzaklarda gözlerin,
Ama o bildiğin uzaklardan değil,
Alıp da başını bir trenin vagonuna atlayıp,
Hani pervasızca herşeyi bir kenara bırakıp,
Öylece gidebileceğin..

Uzaklarda ellerin,
Ama o bildiğin uzaklardan değil,
Özledikçe hıçkıra hıçkıra ağlaya,
Ağlaya gözlerini şişireceğin,
Ve sonunda yine de gülümseyip,
Hani ukalaca “o da öyle bir zamandı,
Öylece geldi geçti” diyebileceğin..

Uzaklarımdasın sen benim,
Ama o bildiğin uzaklardan değil,
İçine düştükçe kavuşmak arzusu,
Yollara vurup adımlarını,
Hani hiç yaşanmamışcasına dönebileceğin;
Gözlerin kadar yakın olsa da gözlerim..


Far away are your eyes,
But not the far away that you know,
Where you could just jump to a train wagon from,
Leaving everything aside carelessly,
Just to go like that..

Far away are your hands,
But not the far away you know,
Where you would cry missing,
Would cry out your eyes,
And at the end still would smile,
Would arrogantly say "it was just a time like that,
Just came and gone"..

Far away are you from me,
But not the far away that you know,
Whenever the desire of return falls in,
Where you could put down your steps,
To return as if hasn't ever happened;
Even if your eyes would be as close as to mine..

Friday, March 18



And the time comes when you drive yourself away from everything and everyone along the friendship of your dashboard lights.. Norah Jones tries to convince you with her soft voice touching your ears intimately..

You don't give up driving away; yet, it is not the only thing you don't give up on; everything and everyone that you carry within your thoughts too; within you, intimately..


Wednesday, December 23


Coupling - Season 1 Episode 4 - Inferno:

"I like naked women! I'm a bloke! I'm supposed to like them; we're born like that! We like naked women as soon as we're pulled out of one! Halfway down the birth canal we're already enjoying the view! Look, it is the four pillars of the male heterosexual psyche. We like naked women, stockings, lesbians, and Sean Connery best as James Bond. Because that is what being a boy is, and if you don't like it, darling, join a film collective. Look, I want to spend the rest of my life with the woman at the end of that table there, but that does not stop me from wanting to see several thousand more naked bottoms before I die, because that's what being a bloke is! When man invented fire, he didn't say, "Hey, let's cook!" He said, "Great! Now we can see naked bottoms in the dark!" As soon as Caxton invented the printing press, we were using it to make pictures of - hey! - naked bottoms! We've turned the internet into an enormous international database of... naked bottoms! So, you see, the story of male achievement through the ages, feeble though it may have been, has been the story of our struggle to get a better look at your bottoms."

Friday, December 18

Seyirci II

"After your afternoon love makings, if there is not even one lighthouse in your with care created gardens to spot a light to the storms breaking in yourself, then the time passing by will ruin you even if you comfort your life with fake smiles.. The life that you would like to keep away from your known memories eats your minutes like a time worm. What is left over to you on the witnessing of the happenings is actually yourself, who you want to stage on behalf of your doings far away from your fights. Your optimistic minutes that you wasted with the passion to “selfishness" and you.. The truths that you always stayed away knowing that you couldn't stand the shock, if you would admit it to yourself.. Your hopes that will not leave you to your loneliness even if you want, your chaos, your complexity; your being used to loyalties full of love and you.. The way you explain yourself with the words you don't know where to use and afterwards, your giving up from yourself like nothing happened and you.. Your reproach to the man writing these words, like they are not from you; and your hopeless shadow showing up on the light behind the paper walls that you actually built from your reproaches and you.. would I say these, you would be so willing to go away from these pages, I know.. You are hiding.. Your arrivals to home, from the long and tiring, boring and bored roads that you used to and full of your hate; and while you are on those roads, from roads that you prison hundreds of more adjectives in your mind, somehow never make you happy. After all the harbors that you didn't bind your happiness to; especially while there are dark and cold storms breaking in yourself so much, it doesn't effect you that you don't bind the most fearful place of your life to the roads. And on top of these, the noises and known fights, at home where the getting harder to bear roads are ending; in your sun smelling room where you spread your worlds into each corner, your not being willing to do's and not being able to do's; the you that is squeezed after all your "et cetera"s.. again, you.. I am talking about you. The you, that you actually know very well. The you that you are trying to freshly get to know with every doings of yours and the you that you give up in every thought of failure of yours.. I am explaining you. I am explaining you, who would do the things in the name of human kind kids, for them, even if you wouldn't do it for yourself or don't do it even if you would; and struggle for it; you who doesn't give up on this only. Even if you don't believe me, even if you don't believe in yourself.. I miss you. Once with your being like a fresh and dynamic, un-frayed and clean baby in the mornings of the days far away from shines, you are being a stranger tome and many others who has to fight with you to make you feel the love, even if you don't believe in yourself and that you are being loved.. Everybody is right for themselves, everything is right with the assurance of the trust given by the perfectiveness. So familiar this view seems to you, who knows better than anyone the days that he goes through. This is the view that you have lived through, have seen when you have lived, have gotten bored when you have seen, and have gotten bored of seeing when you have lived. The days, that has to end somewhere; that you said somewhere will end, will stay in a corner of your life like your observer-ness, as far as you stay as an observer to them.. You have to give up with your stubbornness, you have sacrifice from your fake happinesses. You have to face the you who is hiding behind these words; you have to teach yourself to make him live.. before it is too late.." 

"Yorgun akşamüstü sevişmelerinin ardından, içinde kopan fırtınalara ışık tutacak tek bir deniz feneri bile yoksa o özenle yarattığın bahçelerinde; geçen zaman yazık eder sana, sen sahte gülücüklerle avutsan da yaşamını.. Bir zaman kurdu gibi kemirir dakikalarını bildik anılardan uzak tutmaya çabaladığın yaşam. Olup bitenlerin şahitliğinde sana kalan, aslında kavgalarından uzak yapmışlıklarında sahneye koyduğun sensindir. “Bencillik” tutkusuyla harcadığın iyimser dakikaların ve sen.. Kendine itiraf etsen, yaşayacağın şoka dayanamayacağını bildiğinden, hep uzak durduğun gerçeklerin.. Seni yalnızlığına, sen istesen de bırakmayacak umutların, karmaşan, karmaşıklığın; sevgi dolu bağlılıklara alışmışlığın ve sen... Nerede kullanıldığını bilmediğin sözlerle kendini anlatışın ve ardından, hiçbir şey olmamışcasına kendinden vazgeçişin ve sen.. Tüm bunları yazan adama, bunlar senden değilmişcesine sitemlerin ve aslında sitemlerinden ördüğün kağıttan duvarların ardındaki ışıktan beliren çaresiz gölgen ve sen.. dersem, çekip gitmeye can atarsın bu sayfalardan, bilirim.. Saklanıyorsun.. Uzun ve yorgun, sıkıcı ve bıkkın, alışılmış ve nefretinle dolu yollardan ve sen bu yollardayken, daha yüzlerce sıfatı aklında hapsettiğin yollardan eve varışların bir türlü mutlu etmez seni. Mutluluğunu bağlamadığın onca sakin limanın ardından; hele bir de içinde karanlık ve soğuk fırtınalar esiyorken bunca, gidip de yaşamının en korkak yerini yollara bağlamayışın da dokunmaz sana zaten. Bir de üstüne üstlük, o katlanılması sana gittikçe imkansızlaşan yolların son bulduğu yerde, evinde; kendince dünyalarını her bir köşesine serpiştirdiğin güneş kokulu, bir o kadar da güneşten uzak odanda seni bekleyen o hep bildik kavgaların ve gürültü, yapmak isteyişlerin ve yapamayışların ve vesairelerin ardında sıkışıp kalan yine sen.. yine sen.. Senden söz ediyorum. Senin de aslında çok iyi bildiğin senden. Senin de her yaptığınla yeni baştan tanımaya çalıştığın ve her başarısızlık düşüncende vazgeçtiğin senden.. Seni anlatıyorum. Kendi için yapmayacağı ve yapacak olsa da yapmadığı her şeyi, insanoğlu çocukları adına, onlar için yapan, bunun için çabalayan, bir bundan vazgeçemeyen seni anlatıyorum sana. Bir o kadar bana inanmasan da, bir o kadar kendine inanmasan da.. Seni özlüyorum. Bir zamanlar günlerin ışıltıdan uzak sabahlarında, taze ve dinamik, yıpratılmamış ve tertemiz bir bebek gibi oluşunla seni özletiyorsun bana, kendine ve seni sevdiğine inanmasan da, sevgiyi sana hissettirmek için seninle savaşmak zorunda kalan onca insana.. Herkes kendince haklı, her şey olup bitmişliğinin verdiği güvenle doğru bu günlerde. Öylesine tanıdık geliyor ki bu manzara yaşadığın günleri herkesten iyi bilen sana. Her yaşadığın, yaşadıkça gördüğün, gördükçe yaşamaktan sıkıldığın, yaşadıkça görmekten bıktığın manzaradır bu aslında. Bir yerlerde bitmesi gerekir; bir yerlerde sonu gelir dediğin günler, aslında sen onlara böyle seyirci kaldıkça, sen seyirciliğin gibi kalacaklar yaşamının bir köşesinde.. Vazgeçmelisin inadından, feda etmelisin yalancı mutluluklarından. Tüm bu sözlerin ardında saklanan seni artık önüne koyup, onu yaşatmayı öğretmelisin kendine.. çok geç olmadan.."

Thursday, December 17

Sweet melody

"When you are ready I will surrender take me and do as you wish. Have what you want your way's always the best way. I have succumbed to this passive sensation peacefully falling away. I am a zombie your wish will command me, laugh as I fall to my knees. Can I control this empty delusion lost in the fire below? And you come running your eyes will be open. And when you come back I'll be as you want me, only so eager to please. My little song will keep you beside me thinking your name as I sing Now you can't help it if you have been tempted by fruit hanging ripe on the tree. And I feel useless don't care what the truth is you will be here come the day. Truth do you hear me? Don't try to come near me. So tired, I sleep through the light. If you desire to lay here beside me come to my sweet melody."

Tuesday, December 15


Noon lines: Time is an illusive material that we love to play with thinking that when we "make" it strong enough, it will be the run away door in our difficulties.. Like everything else we "make" strong and powerful in our existence, it is the time that we put into the most precious corner of our lives and hide ourselves beneath. It is the time that we arrange our things according to, it is the time that creates our plans. It is the time that we allow our emotions to grow up; it is yet still the time that we let our feelings to change in. We are leaning ourselves to the foggy existence of time with the hope that everything will be fine if we wait enough, everything will be good, everything will be just the way they "suppose to be". We give even the responsibility to time to repair wounds, to make us get mature, to get more success, happiness and health. We celebrate with the time that we give different names to; we shake hands, we hug, we smile, we laugh, we cry. We define "specialties" in it, we put "valuables" on it, we hide "secrets" under it. Despite of the dear quote of Albert, it is our favorite habit to let ourselves to the flow of time and wait for things to happen. Time is our hero, time is our knight; time is our day and night.. Time is an illusive material that we think we love to play with; yet, at the end, we are its play toys with our beloved pride and prejudice..

Wednesday, December 9

Alfa Romeo

Afternoon lines: It has to be a bordeaux color Alfa Romeo 146 Boxer with green dashboard lights. The sun doesn't have to shine that day. It could be rainy, maybe even with some storm. You may not like the wind, but once you close the door, even the wind is fine.. The name of it doesn't have to be a "road trip". Not even a trip it has to be. Just drive out of the parking spot, just drive out to be gone.. The destination doesn't have to be far. Neither close it has to be. Maybe a place where you have been before, maybe even better a place where you have never seen, never been.. It doesn't have to be a friend in the seat next to you, neither a partner, nor your precious one. You don't have to know the person, you don't have to ask. It doesn't even have to be anyone.. Just you and "Norah Jones' Sunrise"; just you and your sunrise.. It doesn't have to be an evening or afternoon, maybe deep in the night; early in the morning is also fine.. The decision doesn't have to be wrong, neither it has to be one of the rights.. It just has to be a bordeaux color Alfa Romeo 146 Boxer with green dashboard lights..

Sunday, December 6


"Sun"day lines: It is easier to be no one. A robot. A machine of some sort. A working non-organism with minimum to no needs, no support, no attention, no interest. A collection of metallic parts, some stones, some ceramics or some glass of some sort; even maybe plastic to bend a little when necessary.. It is easier to be no one. A robot. A machine of some sort. A functioning block of parts with no communication needs, no interaction, little to none expectations. No feelings, no thoughts, nothing that could go up or down, nothing that could change or try to change something or someone. No willingness too.. It is easier to be no one. A robot. A machine of some sort. Then it doesn't matter too, even if it rains; is lonely or cold..

Friday, December 4


Friday evening lines: Being together with someone, although anticipated otherwise, is not about "love" at all. It is just about the melon being too big and once you cut it, you better eat it together with someone, so that it does not get bad in the fridge.. Or what about the cold bed right before you go to sleep? Of course it is easier to go in with someone so that the blanket will be warm quicker. Not to mention these long, endless movies in the TV. It is obvious that you need someone to tell you what happened when you went to pee.. How about the Christmas tree? Every time you have to go up and down to pick up this shiny ball from the box. A second hand there and it barely takes time to make it ready.. The walk in the park. Come on! They will call the hospital if they see you talking to yourself. It is definitely better to share the road with someone, then you will not even notice anymore how time passes.. And when the heavy rain starts. Who are you going to show your a little fearful excitement to?.. Even scientists could prove that a breakfast with another person will wake you up quicker and voila! You are ready for the day before you go out!.. And all those friends with wrong clothing choices, all the complaints of the boss, the traffic on the way home, the neighbor's naughty children, the policeman writing you a ticket for parking just for two minutes, you have to tell them all to someone for no reason, right?.. So, being together with someone is not about "love" at all.. It is just about the melon being too big for one..


It is the moment when you wake up from the foggy dreams and face the foggy street lamp outside of your window with a stubborn light struggling through the night and you realize the existence of the dreamer in you has overtaken what else you might have had; and when you wake up after this very moment, that you are alone as you have always been..

Thursday, November 26


A small bouquet of light falls off the blanket to the bed covered in small shadows escorting it. While the lines between the eyebrows become more apparent in each step towards the deep sleep, the clock continued its routine tik-tak-tik-tak. "It is a good feeling to have someone as a guardian when falling asleep like this, not anyone, but.." A guardian to protect from the fearful dreams of the unconscious past or a guardian pre-cautious for the upcoming ones.. A guardian to have or a guardian protecting you from becoming yourself.. Along the shivers and worried short breaths, the time follows as if it would ever give up.. Yet, a happy bouquet of light falls off the blanket to the bed covered in small shadows escorting it, to follow the time and just to disappear..

Tuesday, November 24


It was just a night like this on the foggy sky with the almost full moon having its yellow white moires around.. The room was dark as it had been every night after the lights were forced to be turned off. The voices of the young boys were forced to mute too but the wooden lines of the metal bed frames didn't care much when they were cutting the darkness in the room with their sharp talks. Under them even darker than the night falling through the window, shadows were about the start their usual show in the minds of the young bodies. Knowing the boring view of the day time theatre didn't matter much. A story started finding its way from one of the recovered voices towards the middle of the room. The young minds forgot the shadow show quickly, they collected themselves to the barely noticable story. Yet soon enough the story was muted too.. It was just a night like this on the foggy sky with the almost full moon having its yellow white moires around..

Wednesday, November 18

Time and thinking

It is a matter of time and thinking before you go to sleep.. Taking the next step, forwards or backwards; or even sidewards just to have taken that difficult looking step looks meaningless in between those matters. Every night taking you to the next day and yet every day taking you to the same night in endless looking circles is washing up your brain while you are sitting on your comfortable seat in the crowded audience made carefully, proudly yet pathetically by your-selves. Not an improvisionist teather show, neither a tragedia in a monologistical stand-up is what you name yourself being into; it is rather the movie of what you prefer to call your life while nothing you have is truly yours, not even the audience of your-selves. Maybe it is the reason for your boredom you have looking for the exit door without even seeing a simple light to guide your way; the way, that you would hope to take you to the exit you want to have. Yet, there is not even a simple light.. It is a matter of time and thinking before you go to sleep.. Dreaming with open eyes looking at the dreamless eyes of the ones that you like to call friends looks meaningless in between those matters. People pass by your existence with sweat and tears, with regrets and fears, with helplessness and cheers; yet your existence looks meaningless in between. Making sense seems like the only thing which wouldn't make sense; and that's why you would prefer to jump into complexity in the dark, hiding from the audience of your-selves; yet, simplicity catches you from your back to ask for a revenge; a revenge, which doesn't make sense.. It is a matter of time and thinking before you go to sleep.. Reminding yourself all the ones you would like to have, are being some other one's looks meaningless in between those matters. Yet the flower bloomes in your heart each time your mind plays naive games of illusions with your body; illusions, that you would call yourself still breathing.. It is just a matter of time and thinking before you go to sleep, not to wake up to your-selves anymore..

Sunday, November 15


It is a confusion in the rational and logical mind that I have not being able to understand the dynamics, reasoning and motivation of hurting or harming any other one than myself. Therefore, it is impossibly hard to come to the conclusion of grief, tolerance or satisfaction of any kind. How can a mind understand something so distant, so irrational, so meaningless yet so real? And if the reality is the reflection of life in the mirror of time; then, it is a confusion in the rational and logical mind that I have not being able to understand the dynamics of life at all. Then, let's put ourselves in the Truman's cube, glue the big, shiny smiles to our faces and say: "In case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!"

One more time

One more time: Life is full of surprises. Surprises about people we think we know; surprises in the frame of good or bad, beautiful or ugly.. Surprises about people, groups, crowds we have never heard of, never seen; surprises that cause happiness or sadness, surprises that clears the picture or confuses.. One more time: Life is full of surprises. Not as the words of foreign object in the known, not as the words of a known object in the crowd.. Surprises about the masks, about the "made"s; yet still surprises about the real faces, real personalities, real people.. One more time: Life is full of surprises. Just like a "little miss sunshine" looking with her big ocean eyes towards her mother; and yet hidden treasures within surprises every day, one more time.. Yet, one more time: Life is full of surprises. And we are as well.. Just hiding them, comfortably, safely, unconsciously.. Just to make life full of surprises.. ..

Wednesday, November 11


Günlerinin uykusuz umutları, uykulu düşleri, derken gecelerin gerçekten bir adım ötede dünyalarında yaşıyorsun. Güneşin doğuşundan hemen önce hareketlenmeye başlayan bir yaşamın içinde, kendi karanlığında yoksun, yok oluyorsun. Günün ortasında gülümseyen dudakların arasında değil senin suskunluğa gün geçtikçe daha alışan ve bir zamanın sessizliğine hep düşman olduğuna senin bile şimdilerde zor inanacağın suskun dudakların. Akşamüstü keyiflerinde, aynada bulanık bakışlarını gözlerini açabildiğin küçük aralıktan sığdırabildiğince yorgun ve yenisin yüzünün üzerindeki kırışık ve uykulu çizgilerle. Akşam niyetine kahvaltıların sana kavuşturduğu karanlık gecenin içinde, karanlığın kardeşiymişsincesine belirsiz varlığın; sen koca bir yaşamı o karanlığa feda etmiş olsan da kendi ellerinle.. Evini özlüyorsun kimi zamanlar.. Serin akşamları yağmurlu ve ıslak gecelere bağlayan sokaklarda, hele bir de avuntularından uzak, yalnız başına kaldığında, evinin bir yerinde bulacağına hep emin olduğun sıcacık bir köşeyi özlemekten de öte bir şey aslında senin için, odanın kapısını tüm dünyalarının yollarıyla birlikte kapatıp da, geceye emanet ettiğin yaşamını her gece ondan geri almaya çalışırken evine duyduğun özlem. En sevdiğin yağmur damlalarını, sanki sana inat olsun diye yaparmışcasına en sevdiğin şekilde, bir şemsiyenin altında ya da dudaklarının sıcaklığında yaşayan sevgilileri gördüğünde içinde yıkılan umutlarına duyduğun en gerçek özlemlerin bile yetmiyor seni özlediklerine kavuşturmaya; sen buna inanmıyorcasına sabırla ve bir o kadar da kırılgan sabırsızlığınla beklerken olduğun yerde. Özlemlerine bile seyirci olduğunu görsen de, zaten çoktan terk ettiğin yaşamınla buna da seyirci kalıyorsun.. Neredesin sen?.. Yaşadığın her anı yaşarken ve yaşadıktan sonra sorguluyorsun kendi içinde ve yaşananları yaşatanlarda, yaşadığına aldırmaksızın. Her davranışa, her dokunuşa, her sese, her bakışa bir karşılık arıyorsun duygularının, düşüncelerinin arasında. Olup biten her şeyi en ince ayrıntısını bile görmezden gelmeden açıklamaya çalışıyorsun kendine her zaman parçasında. İnsanlara yüzler, olaylara maskeler, zamanlara bahaneler, yalanlara avuntular takıyorsun kendi bildik dünyalarından. Her yanlışınla usanmadan başa dönüp, her şeyi kendin için zorlaştırırken, kendine bir karşılık bulamıyorsun kendi sözcüklerinde bile. Ve her karşılıksız yaşam parçasındaki inadın bu sefer içinde gizleniyor; seni sorgulamaktan kaçırıyor seni “umursamazlık” avuntun. Kaçtığın yerde bile bulamıyorsun kendini, tüm yaşantınla kaçtığına sen de inansan bile kimi zaman.. “Bir zamanlar” kendine isim bile verebilirdin avuntuların tuzağına düşmeden; şimdiki halinle bunu bile yapamıyorsun... “..Yaşam dediğin oyun, uçsuz bucaksız bir okyanusun mavisine bırakılmış küçücük bir kayık gibi insanoğlu minyatürüne... Ufukların hepsi yalan, bulutların hepsi uzak... Güneşin ışıkları olsa hep gözlerinde, kurur bedenin; yağmurun gözyaşlarında eriyip gider. Fırtınalara dayanmaz yüreğin; usul denizde için sıkılır maviden... Bir başına boş kalır ellerin; mavinin gözlerinden yansımadığı yerde daralırsın içinden... Ortası yok yaşamın; başı, sonu yok bir yerlerde. Ne güneş, ne fırtına, ne bulut, ne yağmur, ne şu sahte ufuklar, ne yalnız bir balık olabilirsin mavilerde... Üstünde durduğun küçücük bir kayık...” diye sözler okuduğunda masanın üzerinde sencil harflerden yazılmış bir kağıtta; içinde duyacağın umut dolu boşluktur seni “avuntulu” uykularından birdenbire uyandıran. Bir kabusun son perdesini bitirirken gözlerini açmışçasına yorgun ve ter damlalarını yüzünde hissedecek kadar “gerçek” olursun. Hep olman gereken yere seni götüren, aslında çok iyi bildiğin; ama cesaretsiz düşünmelerinde dudaklarının arasından bile fısıldayamadığın sözlerdir yine; seni yeniden “son zamanlarının” uzaklaşmak istediğin “sen”ine götüren de.. Ama anlamsız seyirler.. Kuş cıvıltıları kadar özgür bir dünyanın tanıdık sahibisin sen. Her adımında bunca “kendince” oluşunun eseri yaradılışındaki bu özgün tutku; ama sen bunu görmezden gelmeye çalışıyorsun, sanki sen yine “sen” olsan “yaratmak” sözünün seninle ilgili olduğu yerlerin ağırlığının altında ezilip gidecekmiş gibi. Kısa sevişmelerin, üstten savma aşkların huzurunda yalnızca terk etmekle yetindiğin kayıplarının arasında unutuyorsun içindeki yaratıcı çocukluğunu ve tutkulu büyümüşlüğünü. Sahte gülücüklerde, soğuk ellerin “sevgisiz” sevgilerinde güvende hissediyorsun bedenini; yaz akşamlarında seni şehrinle ve dünyalarınla bir başına bırakan yüzleri çoktan tanımış olmana rağmen. Yinelemeleri sevmiyorsun yenilemelerin ihtimalleri bile varken; ama her yanlışınla kendini, her vazgeçişinle avuntunu, her umutsuzluğunla karanlığını tekrarlıyorsun çok uzun zamandır. Yenilemeleri gözündeki dev aynalarından gördükçe, yinelemelerin alışkanlığına bırakıyorsun kendini yağmurlu memleketlerin bıldırcın sürülerinin dağlara inmeleri gibi; yok olacağını bilerek ve tüm yaşamını feda ederek çaresizlikteymişçesine.. Yaşayışın var kendince öyle ya da böyle bu zamanların içinde. Öyle bir yaşayış ki seninki, kendi sığınağını kemiren elma kurtları gibi öldürürken kendini, senin zamanlarında, senin yakınındaki yaşamları zorluyor “her gün biraz daha yakın”laşmalarında. Yalnızca “sen” sanıyorsun olup bitenlerin yıkıp geçtiği, bozduğu ve terk ettiği; ama kendin gibi, aslında farkında olsan ne değerlerini üzerlerine bırakacağın yaşamları da görmezden geliyorsun.. Umursamaz körlüğünde yeniden; ama yine yanılıyorsun.

Tuesday, November 10


Daylines: When happiness knocks your door, that you would like to keep closed to be safe and secure, you should simply rip the door away from its place. When love knocks your door, that you wouldn't open so easily, you should simply break the lock and let the love blossom on your soul. If nothing knocks your door, then it the best to kick the door out, break it down and step out to breath in everything that life will surprise you with! ..

Sunday, November 8

Arnavut Kaldırımı

.. Severim yağmur altında yıkanmayı. Tıpkı yıldızsız, kapkaranlık gecelerde, mavilerin içinde oynaşan deniz kızları gibi.. Caddelere uzanır, su birikintilerine basmadan geçerim toprak kokusu yayıldığında çıplak ağaçlara doğru. Evine yollanmış bir iki insana takılırım; bir kör yaprağın sararıp solmuş, ağlamaklı bedenine.. Bazen hızla bir araba geçer yoldan. Saklanırım.. Yağmurun kalbini kırar tekerlek izleri; içim cızlar.. Sonra bir sarhoş, romantik aşığın elinde, yapraklarından yoksun bir gülün dalına tutunurum; yeşili ne yeşil, kırmızısı silinip gitmiş ayrılığın kaleminde.. .. Yağmurun gözyaşlarıyla yıkanmış sokaklar hep bir başka görünür gözüme. Sanki güneşli günlerde bir sürü çocuğun çığlık çığlığa top oynadığı bu sokak değildir. Sanki elma şekerleriyle dolu sepetiyle yaşlı amcanın, titrek ve yorgun sesiyle al yanaklı, kiraz dudaklı dilberleri pencerelere döktüğü; kocakarıların her çamaşır gününde çürük bir ip uğruna saç saça kavga ettikleri yer bu sokak değildir... Birkaç damla gözyaşı herşeyi silip süpürdüğü gibi, tüm anılarımı da alır götürür sokakların gözü yaşlı zamanlarında. Geriye yalnızlığa aşık, ıslak taşlarıyla bir sokak bırakır.. .. Zaman olur, bir şarkı söylerim güneşten kalma.. Bir şarkı söylerim uzaklara uzanıp ıslak caddelerden.. Üstü başı batmış bir kedi mırıltısıyla uyanırım şarkılı düşlerimden. Bana bakar, yanıma yaklaşır, çevremde dolanır, kıvrılır, okşar, sıyrılır, kaçar avuçlarımdan bir anda. Kuru bulduğu bir köşede sıvışır uykusuna doğru. İçten içe bir şarkı söyler sanki.. Sokak lambasının su birikintilerinden yansıyan ışığı, senelerin anıları gibi kalır bir köşede.. Arnavut kaldırımı sokakların gözü yaşlı akşamlarında, yedi tepeli şehrin sokakları dile gelir bakışlarımda. Sanki birkaç dakika durup da dinlesem, yılların anılarını fısıldayacak olur karanlık sokaklar. Öylece üzerlerine basıp gitsem, kırılacaklar sanırım her seferinde. Bu yüzdendir yağmurun gözü yaşlı gecelerinde sokakları arşınlamam.. Nasıl bir fırsat bulsam da dile getirsem diye canlanacak gibi duran arnavut kaldırımı sokakları, durur, düşünürüm her adımda. Kulağımı kabartır, sessizlikteki fısıltılarını duymaya çalışırım.. Kimse bilmez, nasıl onca dedikodu dolanır bu sokaklarda kulaktan kulağa.. Islak akşamlarda caddeler, sokaklara hiç mi hiç benzemez. Daha bir ağırbaşlı, daha bir heybetlidir onlar arnavut kaldırımı sokaklardan. Yanlarına yaklaşmaya geldi mi, suskunluğa dost olur, en beyefendi görünümlerini takınırlar. Gözlerini üzerime diker, uzaklaşana dek ses çıkarmazlar.. Ne zaman ki çok uzaklarda yokolur karanlığım, işte o zaman yeniden koyulaşır sohbetler. Yağmur dokundukça üzerlerine usulca, daha da keyiflenir, daha bir konuşkan olurlar. Yeni anılara, yaşanacaklara, akıp giden zamanın kollarına yer açılır arnavut kaldırımı caddelerin sonbahar karanlığında.. Bazen olmaz mı, kolkola girmiş, birbirine sokulmuş sevgililer geçer arnavut kaldırımı yolların üzerinden. Yollar bir başka olur sevgililerin huzurunda. Bir düğün hazırlığındaymışcasına süslenir arnavut kaldırımı yollar; güzelliklerini takınır en heybetli caddeler bile böyle zamanlarda.. Sevgililerden küçük bir gülümseme, tatlı bir bakış yeter onları memnun etmeye. Mutluluk, sevgililerin dudaklarından arnavut kaldırımı yollara bulaşır, dağılır, çözülür, akar gecenin içine.. Zaman olur, sevdicekten uzakta, bir güle sarılmış, dağınık bir adam geçer arnavut kaldırımı yollardan.. Suskunluk yeniden dost olur arnavut kaldırımı yollara böyle zamanlarda; yalnızca kulak verirler özlemlerin kucağındaki adamın yüreğine. Terkedilmiş sevgiler, umut etmekten bıkmış umutlar yankılanır caddelerde, sokaklarda.. Gülün solmuş rengi canlanır, her gözyaşı damlasıyla dirilir.. Mutluluk dağılır yeniden sokakların, caddelerin üzerine. Sevgiliye akar gider puslu akşamların bakışlarında.. Saatler geçer, yağmurun hüznü bitmek bilmez. Bir umut durağında, gökyüzünün özlediği yıldızlar görünür gibi olur. Usulca dağılır hüzün; yerini ışıkları sönmeye yüz tutmuş deniz yıldızlarına bırakır... Ayaz çöker çıplak dalların, solmuş güllerin, uykusunda üşümüş kedilerin ve sarhoş aşıkların üzerine. Ağırdan kaçmaya başlar karanlık. Avuçlarında gizlediği bir tutam ışığı uzak tepelerin ardına bırakır... Meraklı bir sabah kelebeği kanatlanır ve tepelerin üzerinden çocuksu bir sel gibi akar günün ilk ışıkları arnavut kaldırımı yolların üzerine.. .. Bir yerlerde, çok uzaklarda bir yerlerde toprak uyanırken düşlü uykusundan, arnavut kaldırımı yollar, gecenin kollarında bıraktıkları fısıltıların huzurunda yorgun düşer, uykuya dost olurlar.. Geriye yalnızca üzerlerine konmuş yağmurun son gözyaşlarıyla, gelişi bilinmez, yaşanılası yılların anıları kalır..


"You have to be a writer" sounded so far away from the deep smell hugging all the bodies and minds in the shadowy room. It was just a matter of change of the music's tone, when another searching body was trying to approach a desperate soul. On the other side of the night shift, the elastic bodies on the bar were trying to be replicated by some plastic bodies on the floor next to the barely moving "log"s. "You really have to leave?" No, and yes! Maybe Sigmund was right, all from the beginning. Maybe it is already starting with the baby's first push of its poo out and we can't get away from this addictive feeling afterwards at all; maybe we don't want to get away with it.. Could it really be our choice not to touch, not to kiss, not to have sex of any kind; or, is it just a matter of the modern life's public and safe design that prevents us from spreading our genes around? And yet, we, ourselves create possibilities to rip apart this limiting design and let ourselves out of our mind with our own games.. The question still is, however, if we are the ones creating those borders under the excuse of public modernity yet at the same time if we are the solution providers to naturalize ourselves in body couplings; then, why don't we skip all this unnecessary progress as "a beautiful mind" and right away couple ourselves to the most likely looking touch? If the result is the same, why are we trying to package it under the shadow of eastern lights or in the bath of coctails? To make the present more desirable to each other? To feel more important and valuable? Or is it just the typical fearfull "us" that would like to play safe and keep the emergency exit open until the moment when we couple our most private parts? The beauty is, that in between all this playful struggle to multiply ourselves, there are still these ones, who close their eyes when they listen to the music and open their arms to fly away with their souls, when they dance.. The beauty is, that in between all this body awarding ceremony, there are still the ones bringing a paper cup full of smile and sitting to the pillow next to you like a leaf landing slowly to the water.. Still the ones who makes you think that even if Sigmund is absolutely right in all this sweaty and wet coupling story, that, there is hope of even a tiny moment of a look being more precious than anything else.. Maybe we should "sleep on it", maybe we should "sleep with it" or maybe we should just fall asleep..

Saturday, November 7

In & Un

Nightlines: Should we regret for the missed opportunities, unused chances and overseen possibilities? Or should we believe that in our pre-formed destiny with our decision power to bend, everything happening and un-happening should have a reason to be; possibly a pre-defined or after-thought one? Is it just a coincidence that we found ourselves doing things that we haven't done before and life presents us its surprises with coincidence looking similarities, unbelievable sounding compatibilities and unreal feeling personalities? Or is it just our mind of a dreamer that produces stories out of a common desktop wallpaper, a like in the Instagram photo or just out of a passing by smile with the short touch of an eye contact? If we can't separate the dreamer from the fact of reality, is it the "inexperience" to blame or just the effect of the drink in the square glass and maybe something more? Or is it just our willingness trying to drive us towards the direction of "what we are" because it is "what we see" in others? Shouldn't it be as simple as asking for a kiss to understand what is the real and what is the "else"? Or do we like to have complication to feel more important, more loved and more desired? If it is the desire and love what we are searching for in every corner of the dance floor, in every ice cooled glass or in every passionate habit we develop, shouldn't be as easy as looking to ourselves in the mirror to find what we are looking for? Or is it that we simply want to be safe and secure, unbroken and unhurt, un-lied and unnerved, in-disappointed and important? If so, don't we know already from our destined life experience, that the opposites are making the opposites more valuable? And at the end, why don't we just simply try and regret that we have done it if we fail; instead of regretting the unknown emptiness and inexperience when we never have done it? Daylines: :)

Thursday, November 5

The world

"The world needs you" said the shining soul. It was a moment to remember before the next step. And the next step is always the scary one, the confusing one, the one to think about before you take it towards the one you think off.. "A nice excuse indeed" is to be something else than what you are. That's why no one wants be believe to the other at first, second and third. "You must be kidding" becomes the scale of trustworthiness mixed with confusion, question and yet still a little bit smile deep down somewhere.. At the end, sex is less important than the kisses; kisses are forgotten in the shine of the eyes and at the end words remain: "a wonderful evening" to the shiny soul, an evening full of wonders; wonders like the summery northern lights, wonders like the birth of a child, wonders like a suprising excitement full of confusions and questions unknown from where, not known towards which direction.. Yet the wish is most important: a wonder-full evening!

Wednesday, November 4

Is it?

One said "a relaxation, just not to worry about things, go to inside yourself, guide yourself to the path inside you". What if one can't let anything go? (look: finifugal) Isn't the pathway too crowded then? Too hard to walk through? What if all opposites are in there at the very same time? (look: ambivalence) Evening thoughts: Does love exist? Or is it just a satisfaction of couple of minutes and disappears afterwards? Is it a connection, a bound or just a pathway to follow? Is it "Nicht einander in die Augen schauen, sondern in die selbe Richtung blicken." or is it just a common sense of logic of compatible life puzzling? Is it a cheap word we spare for everything or everyone, or is it a feeling that we share? Does one share love? Or is it selfish happiness reasoned to the other one? Or even better: "a ambition, attraction towards and appreciation of the pure intelligence"? One asked "what is the definition of love?" Morning thoughts: Love should be as strong and as fragile.. strong, because it has to overcome anything; fragile, because both sides will feel that they have to take care of it and protect it all the time.. One said: "Love is freedom!" Is it?

Sunday, November 1


Some things become easily addictions, like long chats with a good friend, like the warm coffee in the morning, like a melody that steals your heart and mind or just simply an old movie teather like Kino Sõprus.. They become addictions in a perfect way, not because you can't do without them; just because you would "like" to have them..

Sunday, October 25


The beauty is when the sun breaks up with the trees and everywhere is covered with their tears. Then the winter comes and cheers them up with lots of marshmallows..

Sunday, October 18

Boring poet

Life is a long way as every boring poet likes to say.. You learn, you grow, you step forward and you move.. You fall down, you look up, you try, you cry.. Sometimes, after something really big, you find yourself walking next to the beach with your best friend.. Pitty is that your best friend is your only friend; and then you realize that you are actually walking alone, as the boring poet like to say..

Tuesday, October 13


"Goodness" is like the water trying to find its way through the stones.. It eventually finds its way out of all the bad and ugly.. And sometimes it just pops up out of nowhere and makes you smile in your heart as never before..

Monday, October 12

Not me

Some have smiled, although they were not happy,
Some have cried, although they were not sad..
Some have made hearts, although they didn't have any,
Some have lied, although they weren't bad..
They told me to do, because I could,
They wanted me to understand, because I would..
Some said a word,
Some spared a sentence,
Some looked away,
Some stared silently..
Some spoke too much,
Some told too less,
Some didn't open at all,
Some confessed..
They have been,
They are,
They will be..
Not me..

Monday, October 5

Dreamer III

Will it ever be different, thought the dreamer. Not with the big expectation to have all dreams to come true, although this would be "priceless".. Just some couple of times, some of them, some of those; no, no, just even one of those would be different.. Or maybe the dreamer has "to force to get a reply" from them, those or the one, if any.. "ha ha".. "All the best" said the red, one would be even enough, all would be "crazy". But the silent stayed silent today as well.. Tomorrow will be another one of those.. Nothing special.. Nothing and special.. "Word porn" is what the red likes, "wortsalad" was in the highschool, no porn yet.. But the big one only speaks of it, one word, one for all.. Those makes the dreamer tired, not the facts but those, who don't even know themselves.. But while "who will be the king of kings" is the question of these days, the one question still remains: Who is the queen? Yet, the answer shall be "priceless"..

Friday, October 2


One day, I so much wish, that somebody, anybody, any living human being, surprises me, destroys my intelligence and does something that I couldn't foresee, that I couldn't guess, that I couldn't imagine, that positively makes a difference, that would prove that not everyone, not every single person is boringly "the same"! pff.. never mind..

Wednesday, September 30

Dreamer II

"This is crazy!".. The dreamer started to think about it. There has been times when the dreamer was in the thoughts of "if it is worth of what he's doing". Or is it even just the things to be done that are worth to be done, the dreamer asked. Long thoughts like lying on the floor so long, even if it is cold and dirty.. "What's to follow then?" said the dreamer in holly quietness. Follow the disprovable instinctive thoughts or just to follow sense making, logic craving, mind driven paths? What's going to happen then to "what if"s; like what if "one morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that in bed he had been changed into a monstrous verminous bug." Will it be too late for Mr. Samsa or it will never be too late for Gregor to be what he might ever been.. Dreams, said the dreamer in a relaxed and unexciting voice, dreams are the best I do. So, for now and forth, yet but still, "thank you a million" for those dreams which are the only "only mine"s, madly and sadly nothing else..

Tuesday, September 29


The dreamer didn't know what to say. Two stars were shining there like the excitement of the dreamer was not enough to erase all the words, so, the time froze. Awkward moment would they call it, if necessary to call at all, but the smile was there too and took away the awkwardness slowly. Then the fog just continued as if that moment never happened. Before the dreamer could get awake, there was the moment again, just one-two simple words and that hand was disappearing from the scene slowly, the hand that touched the old fellow. So, the time froze. The dreamer didn't know what to say..

Friday, September 25

Good one

Good strategy of productivity includes dreaming, thinking, planning, assessing, modeling, prototyping, testing, applying, production and after support. And.. Good strategy of best possible work result lies in good planning, successful application and continuity of results without the dependency of the work producer. Aha! Nash claimed (let's be safe on proof): "The optimal outcome of a game is one where no player has an incentive to deviate from his or her chosen strategy after considering an opponent's choice. Overall, an individual can receive no incremental benefit from changing actions, assuming other players remain constant in their strategies." Well.. Meanwhile at the parallel universe the good guys Dunning and Kruger has theorized and practiced: "The miscalibration of the incompetent stems from an error about the self, whereas the miscalibration of the highly competent stems from an error about others. (Niisiis ebakompetentsete väär kalibreerumine tuleneb veast enda suhtes, samas kui kõrge kompetentsusega isikutel tuleneb väär kalibreerumine veast teiste suhtes)." Hmm.. On one hand Gandhi states a different path: "“First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.” But.. On the other hand, maybe, just maybe, it is time for the final countdown.. Or.. As she perfectly concluded: "Have a good one!"

Sunday, September 20


Something to note:

The power of suggestion in combination with the willingness to believe could make human beings do simply anything!


If you go to bed after a tiring day but you cannot close your eyes and fall sleep, If you want to listen to music so loud that you cannot hear your thoughts, If you don't want to answer your phone or you are nervous that it could ring, If you cannot tell what you had for breakfast or if you had at all, If you find yourself trying to run away from everything and everyone, If you scream inside your mind but you cannot hear your voice, If you believe that everything will fix itself in time, If you try to question every single thing without a reason, If you cannot totally trust to any single person, Then you have to ask yourself "what am I doing wrong?" .. If you cannot give an answer, then what you are doing is that "you are thinking too much!" .. Stop your thinking and start "do"ing something!

Friday, September 18


Question is "what's on your mind?".. Answer is "you, you all, this and everything else".. Wish is "I hope there is someone out there who can hear my inner voice, who can respond to that, who can get along with that, who would like to keep that".. Reality is "despite of the fact of it never being too late, time just goes by, as it has been before, as it always will".. Conclusion is "move on, this or that way but some way; or just wait for it but do not complain".. Question is "what's on your mind?".. Answer is "nothing"..

Thursday, September 17


"Home" is where and next to whom you feel "yourself".. So, ask yourself, when are "you" coming "home"? :)

Monday, September 14


Yet.. No matter what and how happens.. No matter if you are there where you wanted, or distances are closer than ever.. No matter if the dream has become real, or the real has become a dream.. No matter if there is hope left, or the hope is long dead.. Just to appriciate the moment that you had, at the end, life is beautiful..

Sunday, September 13


It's easy to let it go, Challenge is to keep it going.. It's easy to step careful, Challenge is to care.. It's easy to understand, Challenge is to make yourself understood.. It's easy to get interested, Challenge is to keep it interesting.. It's easy to fall in love, Challenge is to be the one to beloved.. It's easy to be, Challenge is to become..

Saturday, September 12


When you are curious, they say not to ask too many questions.. When you are silent, they ask if something is wrong.. When you are open and direct, they tell you to keep it private.. When you step carefully, they warn you that you will miss it.. When you express as it is, they criticize you as an offender.. When you step back, they see you as a coward.. When you want to try, they warn you to be careful.. When you want to discover, they show you the limits.. When you stay in the circle, they bring up what you miss.. When you don't do nothing, they call you shy and low.. When you go for it, They tell you to be slow.. 

Friday, September 11


Things that you really want from the heart does not happen..
The feelings that you really feel right does not correspond..
The moment that you think you had may not be that moment..
The dream takes over the reality and it does not taste so sweet..
You feel like you have done the right move,
But sometimes,
It does not result at the time you expected it..
Even if you believe that it's never too late,
It makes you feel like, you lost it and it is gone..
 It really goes away,
Yet sometimes,
It comes back when you never expect it..
The feeling of loss makes it; yet sometimes,
The unexpected makes the life interesting..

Thursday, September 10

Half of the way

In the country I am originating from (not mine, never felt a real part of it), there is this known poem starting with "age 35, half of the way".. According to this at 23:15 on 09.09.2015 I have spent already one year from the second half of my life.. I do not want to make any poets sad with my plans of living up to my 104, or with my inner child who stopped growing after the age of 16, but I would like to appreciate all the efforts of everyone who tried their best to make me feel like a grandpa today!! I wish the good, the better and the best for all who has good in their heart, youth in their soul, passion in their mind and endless hope in their eyes..

Sunday, September 6

Simple kiss

It's a call that you hope for, It's a message that you wait for, It's a program that you want to get rid of, It's an entry that you wish to read to, It's an email that you are impatient about, It's a paragraph that you would like to quote of.. And then, after all, It's just a smile that makes you forget all of these, It's just a look of an eye that puts you to dreams, And, It's just a simple kiss that changes everything you look for..

Monday, August 31

Sözlerimi geri alamam

Sözlerimi geri alamam, (I can't take back my words)
Yazdığımı yeniden yazamam, (I can't write again what I wrote)
Çaldığımı baştan çalamam, (I can't play again what I played)
Bir daha geri dönemem.. (I can't go back again..)
Akıyorsa göz yaşım kurumasın, (If it is my tears dripping, let them not dry)
Coşup seven gönlümse durmasın, (If it is my heart that is bubbling, let is not stop)
Dost bildik anılarım çağırmasın, (Let my friendly memories not call me back)
Bir daha geri dönemem.. (I can't go back again..)
Hiçbir kere hayat bayram olmadı ya da (The life has never been a festival or)
Her nefes alışımız bayramdı. (Every breath that we took was a festival)
Bir umuttur yaşatan insanı. (It is the hope that make the one live)
Aldım elime sazımı.. (I took my "guitar" to my hand..)
Yine aşınca çayın suyu boyunu, (Once the river goes over your height again)
Belki yeniden karşıma çıkacaksın. (Maybe you will come across me)
Göz göze durup bakınca göreceğiz, (When we stare to each other we will see)
Neyiz ve nerelerdeyiz.. (What we are and wherever we have been..)
Bilemiyoruz şimdi.. (We don't know now..)

Friday, August 28

Real value

The real value lies in courage; that you can stand up for what you believe, even if you know that you may never sit down to your position again.. The real value lies in honesty; that you can tell the truth, even if you know that you will not get what you want when you tell.. The real value lies in fairness; that you give everyone what they really deserve, even if you have to make yourself unliked.. The real value lies in openness; that you don't hesitate to speak out your mind, even if you know that you may get hurt.. The real value lies in decency; that you be someone proper, respected and appriciated, even if you know the people around you don't know to respect and appriciate.. The real value lies in every person; when they take off their clothes, masks, fears, egos, lies, plans and scenarios, after they put their heads to the pillow, right before they fall asleep.. The real value lies in being as "naked" as right before sleep, when you are with others and totally awake..

Thursday, August 20


Why to share it on Facebook, when I feel so hurt deep down in the soul? Is it a cry for help like a baby or a next generation expressionism? In a world of two faced people full of curiosity, tricks, tactics and cheats; why to bother trying to find trustworthy, valuable and good ones, while being a bad person himself once in a while? Is typing on a broken screen phone with a soul with all its doors open without any expectations balance the confusion towards life? Or not putting out the feelings on some shared text pictures makes them less readable and even less interesting? And who cares? Who cares about a foreigner with the lack of language on an independence day of a proud population? Who cares about someone typing some unnecessarily and maybe dangerously open words from his soul to a social media which he rejects? I reject the reality and replace it with my own.. It's just not as easy as it looks like to be there alone..