Artist was his son
Humiliation was his son
Madness possessed his son
Poetry gifted like a Sultan’s throne in Ottoman Empire
Philosophy his son drinks like milk
Punished by the trail of public opinion
What sand on sea shores can do?
When flooded by the sea waves every now and then
Like an un invited guest my poetry came to my house
Fate is to be blame if any?
World is to be blame if any?
Ask what sorrows and pain is?
Never to be understood but misunderstood
Major since I changed the universe changed
Major was philosophy and sin was passion
Talent was to be blame if any?
Books were to be blamed?
Poets and writers were to blamed?
Engineer he wanted me to be when
I forced to be a footballer
Business majors he wanted
When I strive for philosophy
What life? What money? What women?
What business? What god? What religion
What society? What family? What and what not?
Nothing matters if one knows not what ones good at?
I have been philosophizing all my childhood
I have been a poet in my mother’s womb
Listen if you can Poetry and philosophy is not useless
Just as moon is not useless
Moons light is its mask
Moons gravity is its poetry
no more o my filthy blood
Close the doors
Shut the windows
Lock the hearts
Enslave the souls
Debt to debts
Father to son
Misery to misery
End to and end