MİND

If they just take a look around, maybe they’ll notice something they haven’t seen before. Even if they regret what they did not see before, they will not lose anything. When people are child,they immediately say they want to grow up.  Every age teaches them something. They don’t want to grow up after a while. They want life to stop.They are afraid of death.   

This is the city to walk around in the rain
Staring at the barges in the harbor
And to hum songs through the night.
The city has countless streets
Bustling with people running around…
The waitress who brings me my tea every evening
And whom I like a lot although she’s a White Russian
Is in this city.

The old pianist who turns around
To look at me
When he sneaks in pieces by Schumann and Brahms
While playing waltzes and foxtrot
Is also in this city.

The ferry boats that caryy passengers
To the village where I was born are in this city.
So are my memories,
All those I love,
And the graves of my loved ones.

This is the city where I have a job,
Where I earn my bread money.
And yet, in spite of all this,
This is the same city I’m leaving
Because of a woman
In another city.
The Wall of Love

Was it you or your loneliness
In the blind dark we opened bleary eyes
Last night’s curses on our lips
We would frequent art-lesbian-lovers,
Galleries and public places
My daily care was to remove you into the midst of men
An ammoniac flower in your button hole
My loneliness my incontinent countess
The lower we sink the better

We loitered in the pubs at Kumkapğ
With beanstew, beer and wine before us
And police battalions behind us; in the mornings
My Guardian Saints would find my carcass in the gutters
Hot as the garbage-collecfors’ hands,
With their hands I caressed you.
My loneliness my bristle-haired beauty,
The higher we stink the better

I looked in the sky a red flash a plane
Steel and stars and human beings galore
One night we leapt the Wall of love
Where I fell was so clear so open
You and the universe at my side.
Uncountable my deaths, their resurrections.
O loneliness my many songs
The more we can live without lies the better.

                     

Why don’t marginally minded people care about other people’s opinions? They don’t admit their mistakes, and they don’t even notice how the other person is hurt with their stubborn personalities. All they do is wonder. They have already set everything up in their heads. Nothing escapes their attention. It’s okay for them when it’s over, other people’s activities are no longer important. They like to be motivated and flattered. They are proud. Their courtesy attitude at first turns into ridiculous and childish pranks later on. As you continue to talk to them, you will understand their uncharacteristic demean.

                                                             BYYEL

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