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Dawn is breaking here. Here where I still feel like an outsider. Hence I am never here. Where am I? Sometimes sitting right beside you watching you waking up next to someone else, loving your dreams in her, loving yourself in her, searching deeper meaning of life in your togetherness…but why is there still shadow of worry in the corner of your blue eyes, I whisper in your ears. You walk to bathroom and look into mirror.

“Everything is fine,” you say to the man in the mirror, trying to avoid his fears and invisible tears. You walk into the little cubicle to have a shower. Water cools you and I touch you softly with my deepest love.

“God, water is the best miracle,” you say as you walk out without seeing me there.

love letter

You feel nervous all of a sudden as you dry your body because you remember that you left your mobile in the bedroom. Do you cheat on her…yes you do…some part of you is still not satisfied…I wonder what can fill that void of yours because I know it is not who…no one can handle that task. You go out and take your phone without disturbing her. You wonder whether she checked your phone and you look at her with a subtle anger…you know it is not her it is you…you are angry with yourself but you never admit that. You dress up, wear your perfume…everything looks perfect on you until you push them all into the shadow of your pride.

She wakes up, you wear your manly smile that is broken with your pride. You don’t want her to know what power she has over you…you don’t want her to know that she has something you desperately need…you keep telling her “I love you darling,” but she knows how much you mean it and how much you don’t. She smiles and gets out of bed. And this invisible distance becomes apparent to her all of a sudden…you cause it to expand…she feels it but she lies to herself as it confuses her. Why do you still do that to women who come to you wholeheartedly…are you scared of being left alone again…don’t be…not everyone is a mad truth seeker like me…not everyone is in existential crisis like I was when I was with you…not everyone is crushed by dishonesty early in life like and developed some trust issue I had…yes I did not tell you about it, did I…because you assumed that I had never had a wound in my entire life…you never asked…you either could not stand to see me bleeding in words or maybe you really did not care…or maybe all you cared about was to have a beautiful and smart woman standing next to you…you were so excited to impregnate me…lock me in your house with your kids thinking that that was what I really wanted…but it was not…I did not come to this world to bear your kids and spend rest of my life bringing them up just to be rarely appreciated…I have learnt how to appreciate myself, thank you very much…no that was not the life I had in my mind but you never asked…your dream was supposed to be mine…and I was gone while still standing there, staring at you.

love letter

 

“Love you, too,” says she shallowly as you walk down on the stairs. She does not walk you to the door. You secretly resent but don’t tell a word…why would you…that would be too weak…you walk out leaving so many tests for her to reveal her real self…you did that for me , too…I mean what the heck was that for…why did you not talk…did you think everyone was a liar like you were…yes that was it, wasn’t it…but every test you left behind was a proof of who you actually were…don’t do that to her…she might walk away, too, one day.

You get in your car and drive…I am sitting next to you…you vaguely see a butterfly on your left side…you look for no apparent reason and see the empty seat in the middle of enjoying infinite freedom roads generate within you like they used to do…you cannot see anything but you hear a vague voice and look again…you feel drawn and you eventually touch the seat…

buuterfly

“Bloody weird,” you say to yourself and turn up the music. I can fuck your morning joy, making you feel even weirder but I don’t because I still love you…and my love does not dictate you to lead your life in my way…it has never done that to any man I liked…I say l liked because you were the only man who I loved and you still are…I send you love and hold on to my dreams not yours…I send you love and I will always do while pursuing my dreams…while you bringing up your kids…sorry I could not make you one because I could not be cruel enough to push a child into this world just to see how it feels to be a mother…I am working to save them all instead…I do not wish to be the mother of one but of all children on earth…I am working to show them the light…

 


The Orchids’ Prayer

No it was not love…he knew it was not…she could feel it was not but wanted to believe that it was…at least for a little while…she looked strong like an oak but she was an orchid on the inside…yes that is right she was fragile…the world was cruel…she was fragile…the world was cruel…she was fragile…the world was cruel…and she was stubbornly fragile…to believe in love…it made him feel weak to love someone who was not strong enough to survive without his love…she was too fine not to see that in his eyes…which lied…which lied… he felt smart as he lied…he felt more manly as he lied…he thought he could conquer her world…he thought he could destroy her with his lies…but some part of his cried inside…some of part his died…she was too fragile to fight…too divine to let him drown…no it was still not yet love…she still smiled…stood like an oak…but still fragile inside…

orchid

Yes it was a defeat…how could he have accepted it…the world was cruel…he was brutal…how could he have accepted it…it was an oak he had destroyed…it was an orchid he had drowned…how could he have accepted it…the world was cruel…he was brutal…but still beaten…still defeated…how could he have accepted it…he was ashamed…filled with guilt and disappointment…no oak…no divine look…no weak orchid…but disappointment…guilt…defeat…laughter of his demons…how could he have accepted it…he stood on the top of his roof…to destroy the defeated brute…he looked at the Moon…he looked at it again…he was ashamed…orchid was there…he heard her prayer…love he said…how weak…how blind…how dark…how ignorant I was he said…orchid cried with grace….she prayed…he looked at the roof…he looked the brute who stood on the roof…he looked at the Moon…Orchid prayed…she still loved him with grace…he could not forgive the brute…and he pushed him…God, said he as he began to fall…Love said he as he continued to fall…Light whispered he when he lay on the ground…Orchid prayed…people learned to love the brute in the Moonlight…Orchid prayed…people prayed…They smelled orchids…

“Orchids,” they said and the Orchids prayed.
“Grace,” they embraced and the Orchids smiled.
“Love the brute,” Orchids whispered and people smiled. Tears dried…

Morning Verses…

Posted: April 28, 2017 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , ,

Hello everyone,

Here are some verses to murder your fears.

morning verses

Have a wonderful creative weekend…


Why Do I Write?

I slept 12 hours. I wanted to meditate but that would send me back to sleep. So I washed my face with cold water, I looked at the mirror. I hardly remembered where I left myself yesterday, who I was planning to become, what did I become when I last stared at the mirror but I heard the same command over and over again.

“WRITE!”

“I nodded and opened my curtains.

“Oh God! SUN!  How beautiful, how sublime!” I exclaimed, standing in the balcony.

“WRITE!” exclaimed back sun. Write about me, write about my beauty!” said she.

I nodded once more and a big white bird sang in the sky and the little ones followed her chanting, craze of spring in the wings.

“Don’t forget to include us in your stories!” they begged.

I nodded once more and was about to walk back in. Three big mountains called me back.

“Hey, wait!” they yelled. I looked at them.

“We know how much you love us. It is not only you who look at us with grace and admiration in your eyes every morning , tell everyone how much we love them, tell them to look and see everything with love,” they said with no word.

I nodded again and was going to walk back in.

 

“Hey, you! Can I be the best looking homeless dog in your story?” asked a dog, standing by the big black gate with no one but a freedom with no boundary. Yes, humans’ love for animals was not yet commercialized in this land with lots of minarets.

“I love you doggy, you are the most aristocratic dog of the streets,” I said when the cat joined us and exclaimed while jumping from one roof to another.

“Meow!” said she naturally of course but I knew what she meant.

woman writing

 

“I know what you mean you, the freest bitch!” I said and smiled. And I finally walked in. Someone knocked on the door.

“I brought you tea and some pastries,” said my old womanizer neighbour. I knew what he meant, too, but I smiled. Though not so wide because he could easily twist my smile. He looked at me and expected me to invite him for breakfast. He was full of love but in trouble with his cock. I looked at him. He found it hard to control his cock and put his hand in his side pocket. And I knew what he did that for.

“I know what you mean, it is hard for men to have a pure love for women but I think yours is different…yours is some kind of disease…what did you do here on earth for all those years… how did you spend your life so carelessly…” I said in silence.

“WRITE!” commanded silence once again in his stare.

“Are you going to write today, too?” asked he, my hand on the red hot tea.

“Yes,” said I.

“I will go climbing today…you should join me one day…animals might inspire you, too,” suggested he, but I knew what he meant.

“Maybe,” I said and smiled but not so wide. That would drive his cock wild.

“Okay then,” said he and stepped back, still hoping to see me smiling like a child whom he could deceive with a candy.

“Enjoy your adventure with animals,” said I and I laughed but not so loud and not so apparent only inside. That would drive his cock wild.

I closed the door as he walked to his flat, already trying to console his crying cock.

“WRITE!” said the red hot tea and fresh pastries. I agreed without knowing what. I don’t think I was completely awake yet. I should have never slept that long. Maybe I should play some Arabic music; that might help, I thought to myself as I held the glass of tea by my upper lip.

“Oh no…what if he put something in it to make all his fantasies come true…no no I should no drink this,” I said to myself and poured it into the sink.

“Shame,” I said and smiled as I fed the birds with the fresh pastries in the balcony.

“Stop fooling around! Birds know how to hunt foods! Just WRITE!” whispered the trees; the dark green, light green, orangey green and yellowish green.

“You write to be immortal, don’t you?” asked the shadow of the lady, still standing in the balcony on my left.

“Fuck you woman! Why would I care whether I live in your fucking mind when I die or not…I am in an endless agony, which leaves me only when I write…it might kill me…I might die if I don’t write,” I said to her shadow.

“You write to get back to someone, don’t you?” said the old editor with big belly and little talent to write but insatiable appetite to criticize those who do, turning the possibly poisonous pastries into a TED stage. But none of the birds felt dizzy or fell on the ground yet. Maybe it was just me and my broken trust in my womanizer neighbour. Maybe they were really fresh pastries after all.

“Go fuck your big belly and your distorted mind, you idiot!” I shouted at the old editor and walked back in. I felt so good when I saw my next door whore in the opposite apartment as I closed the curtain. She tried to drive me insane but pathetically failed with her idiot fucker. She had to move to the other apartment where both of her next doors are policeman. Yes, she cannot fuck with them. Now she knows how to fuck quietly but sadly her coward fucker left her. She could have asked me how to fuck quietly before all that though.

“ARE YOU GOING TO WRITE or NOT?” asked dead authors in my shelf.

“Yes, I will but there is something in my head, it is like it is no longer my head …maybe first I should shout aimlessly…loud and with no aim just to pour out my never ending craze…or maybe stretch myself to the point where I could reach the mountains…or maybe I should have a shower with a very cold water until I scream…I don’t know my head does not feel like mine anymore…I know I am here to write…this is why I was sent to this earth no matter what any fucker thinks why I write…oh God! What shall I do to break this egg?”

I found it, I will play Arabic music and dance like a mad until I sweat …until I sweat like I used to when I was a cheap worker…no I am not trying to get back to anyone…but to myself… how did I blindly give away my power in those years…how did I ignore this divine voice when it was little…

Shaking belly is good, better than trying to understand nonsensical creatures around you…Try it but don’t try writing until you hear this constant command everywhere…

“WRITE!”

 

 

 


I was so kind…so kind…even too kind…too kind to be true…so gentle like an angel…my soul was like a feather of a baby bird…I was not even able to feel it most of the time…but I was a human…no other human could comprehend that…nor was I able to believe they were humans…I was right they were not…because they ate me alive day by day…bit by bit…day by day…more and more…but I was not finished…and they were so annoyed…

They wanted me to either die or develop some kind of demons in my feather like delicate soul. I refused they attacked,I refused they attacked, I refused they attacked , I refu…they attacked…I ref…they attacked…I re…they attacked…I r…they attacked…they must have attacked more after that…they must have…they must have drunk my blood…humans…they do that a lot…they love that…and they think they love dogs…humans have forgotten what love was…

feather

And one day I woke up but I was different…I was still human…but I had irresistible urge to harm…I had invincible doubts about everyone…I was unable to sleep in the dark…I think…I think…yes I think I wanted to kill the dark…I wanted to attack…I wanted to control…I wanted to hurt and rule…I want to be more important than everything and everyone on earth…I wanted to see millions bow in front me…I want to kill the ones who refused it…I wanted to kill the passivists, I wanted to kill the activists…and I did…unless they wanted to kill, too.

But I knew…I knew I had never won…no human on earth had won…but demons…and one day I decided to kill myself… I decided to kill myself in front of millions…just to kill all the demons in every human…and I did…and I become like a feather again…demon-free like a feather…


It was full moon and I reported all my ex-lovers to the police. Yes, I did…I did…I did…Oh God…I did…I don’t know why I did it but it felt so good…so empowering…it felt like I fucked them better than they fucked me at least once…but I wanted to kill some of them or maybe I already killed all of them…

And then I sat down and thought…about what else I could remember about them…I wanted to know more about their dark and dirty side…I wanted to report them again…I don’t know why I wanted that…It was like I had swallowed a dragon and it was now uncontrollable… telling me to fuck all the fuckers… all the fuckers who secretly thought that they were more important than me…because of their big muscles…and their secret weapon they had between their legs.

I was confused for years…especially after I had my first fuck…I asked myself how can a cock be used for love if it is mostly used for revenge, anger, hatred and domination…How can a man like Bruce Willis, who supposedly expressed his love saying that he wanted to fuck his lover while in reality he was only horny, filled with semen not with love. What a smelly rottenness covered with a masculine smile…what a cocky way of degradation of love and women…what a subtle suppression…Yes it began with him…Willis started it…and then misogynistic comedians  with little dicks continued…

full-moon-dragon

And one day I came to conclusion that no man actually used their cocks for love…they used it to feel man…to feel man meant to feel superior to them…to the society that was formed by them, empowered them, entertained only them, privileged only them unless you are the Queen Elizabeth…And then I began thinking about the weapons I could use not to wound or kill the cocks but trivialize them…I discovered that some fellow women thought that they could use their kids for that…I sighed and wanted to remove their uteruse immediately…they were just dumb and lazy…well, yes they were…not only that…they were not one or two or three…they were many…

Why do I still think about them…aren’t they all so small…with little light in their mind which is only enough to show them what they have between their legs…I want to report the guy, who wrote the script of the movie where Bruce Willis replaced love with fuck in millions of people’s minds, who produced that movie,to the police …I want to report Mohammed, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche to the police of the Hell. Yes, I know they are in the hell…I can feel it…Oh I also feel the dragon that reminds me of all that…

“Play dumb, discover dirty secrets of more men and report them if you cannot fuck them!” shouts he.

“No, that is not so smart…I cannot play dumb in my entire life…tell me what I can do to break their weapons!” I ask.

“Produce money!” shouts the dragon.

“Money?” I asked like a real dumb.

“Yes, because money is far more important…far more powerful than any man!” whispers the dragon and allows me to breathe.

Oh God! I can breathe…what was that all about…was it the Full Moon…was it my PMS…

All I wanted to was to love…

 

 


It is 5 minutes to midnight now. I was in my bed, trying to sleep only if I could stop hearing screams of the Judge who was angry and awake in my head.

“No, no…that is not porn…it is not pornographic at all…something isn’t quite right!” No, it is not matter of right and wrong but what is it that is burning my gut in the middle of the night?

“So what is porn Uncle Google,” I asked when I sat at my desk, millions of bugs in my mind, the Judge still staring at me in its back yard.

“Pornography is the portrayal of  sexual subject matter for the purpose of sexual arousal,” answered Wikipedia.

“What does the girl in this image do to cause sexual arousal?” asked the Judge with no gender.

bacak aramda

“Nothing, she seems to have been undressed forcefully…which is why she is looking down with shame,” I replied.

“Exactly! What kind of soul can get sexual arousal from such image?” asked the Judge.

“Oh God!” I exclaimed. The Genderless Judge looked happy…no not because s(he) made me feel sick but s(he) managed to teach.

“Have another close look,” said the genderless judge. And I looked at the image below which was the book cover of my first poetry book.

“Yeah…I mean she is not human is she…she is a robot…and made by a man,” I whispered to myself and looked back at The Genderless Judge.

The Genderless Judge smiled and disappeared.

Now I am asking you, was The Genderless Judge right?

Should I create another cover or should I insist on using this one?

I am going to bed now.

By the way, the content of the book is nowhere near pornography…it is all about gender war…

I am going to talk to the stars in the balcony for a few minutes just to miss my warm bed…otherwise I won’t be able to sleep…unless they say something to oppose The Genderless Judge…Oh God!