One poem for 90 days + 21 more days and all the days that have passed and all the days that may not pass…


Something had happened to us all of a sudden;

at a twilight,

Out of a transition from the dark shades to the sun shades.

All the best intentions of the pavements had revealed itself.

I cannot not remember what had happened to us

A small salvation of the time

A brief friendliness from the world.

put again;

We had made something happen.

It changed us

And everything we touched.

I can’t undo what had happened to all of us

and to the life alongside.

How easily it had turned into a universe we could actually belong to

into something that kept us; contained, wrapped…

That is why ;

I cannot walk the streets without a memorial mist,

My eyes cannot skip over anything around here without a rush of sensational shake.

We had made it happened right here,

through these streets,

as subtle as a cat’s whiskers.

And It had changed the whole tale.

All of it has changed again.

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Leonardo Da Vinci and I

Leonardo Da Vinci, the master of Renaissance, a figure that is closest to the ubermensch of Nietzsche, the symbol of the human pride in himself, a hope that anything can be possible.

These are some of the ways that Leonardo Da Vinci has been presented to me since  my younger ages, so did to many others .  He has become a popular figure of 21st century in nostalgia  of narrating how humankind have progressed by following the inner drives and curiosity.  With an indication of a hidden hope to cure our  insignificance  as individuals in a mass of 7 billion people, having the knowledge of a infinite universe, a vastness of consciousness and a history that goes beyond our sight that seemingly already includes anything we might do. In the world we live in, somehow everything else is more significant than ourselves. “The other” is now the masses, techs do their work with a perfection that is forbidden to us, science suggests an absolute control of our environment, and we are surrounded   entities which scale beyond our comprehension such as the states, the multi-national companies, THE INTERNET.

There is no uniqueness, not enough space for one to “shine like a diamond”. However a figure like Leonardo Da Vinci somehow promises that one man can be beyond all these. An alluring image of the intellect, the talent, the productivity, transcending time and society, an orphan born being tended in his dying bed by the hands of the kings and the pope, passing on an immortal reputation, a mystery, a wisdom that feels as if it could have almost pierced the life itself…

As a child, I must have been affected by this allure however I was too young to realize him in a different perspective than he was advertised. For me the biggest attraction was that he was like me. Like a child. And he was legitimised by the world unlike anything about me. I was the least in the world, the smallest, the weakest, the ignorant one who needed to be taught all the time.

The world I was experiencing was constantly not recognising me and forcing me to recognise it. There was no question about it. As a child, my way of thinking needed change, my skills were not enough, they needed to be improved, the world as I perceived was only a child’s hallucination . However there was Leonardo who was telling me it was the opposite. So I took him as an ally. I hid myself in him, and later on used him as a shelter and as a teacher.

When I decided to improve my creative skills and learn drawing, I refused take any teachers. I had lost my trust in teachers and had proven myself that I, could learn things by myself. And that was how it should have been. The phenomena of life belonged to me just as it had belonged to anyone else. The truth of a thing was in existence for anyone who is here.

Everybody has a uniqueness indeed. Everybody has their of knowledge of life.

That’s taken from us from constant education.  From the era of babyness, first parents by teaching us what is what, what is their function and why they are there, they start to formulate our conjunction, train our eyes, hands, body, imagination. There is a name for everything. There are certain purposes. Things are made for specific functions . There are certain steps to do things. Everything is in their assigned place. And there are supreme courts, councils, people who know the best and tell us how we should live. But more than that what life is and what world is.

“That is earth my dear. That is a tree. This is sky we get rain, snow, ice, sun and beautiful spectacles from it.  These are animals, so name ten of them.If you want to learn more look at the pictures, you can read about them as well.”

So that’s how we get lost. Without our authentic experience of life, we become aliens or zombies as they are more popular nowadays. A repetitive shadows of beyond- human persona.

Leonardo Da Vinci as a bastard son of  one these supreme  court members reflect to me as a sad story. He chased after that beyond-human , super-human state. One questions how much of these holy human drives of curiosity, ambition to know, to achieve are inner-driven and how much of it was imposed on child’s soul.  His miracle has been that he is one of the few who achieved it, the super human. But now I sometimes think in a dream-like stream of events, whether he was a child encapsulated in sort of black magic, that kept him alive for its sources and twisted into a weird machine of production to dazzle like a circus member for kings and popes, a play-writer for their wars?

The Criminals

It was their fault!
It is all their fault,
that I live with stoned-sad-fences in and around me.
Oh so much desperation I feel,
They keep walking and walking
careless of bothemselves or us.
Displaying their rotten limbs that are the ones;
The ones they refused to give up
The ones that kepthem intact in their vulgarity.
The ones that they would rub to our faces the first moment if they got a chance.

Because they were so ugly, poor and helpless
They ventured terrible events like the infections in dirty beds.
Their savage hungers were not possible to feed with whatever we could offer,
It is the sacrifice of ourselves, they ask for…
They are asking!
All lined up beside the streets,
so ugly
and poor
and helpless.

Naked Bodies In the Earth

I live like so many women have lived.
And so many of those women are buried alive with the hands of men.
The idea of justice might have gotten lost in the labyrinths of reasoning
But what are we left without it above the ground?
Murderous pacing upon the earth…
Earth has accepted the bodies of the women
laying still with those vigorous tornadoes.

I live with a vigorous warmth in me.
I touch to the body of the world,
and bleed with it,
and sweat with it.
I live with a vigorous hunger to be together,
and to dive into each other’s invisible eyes,
And swim with the slippery tensions wrapping around us.
I live with a tornado in me!
It breeds the life; in red and in white and in black
along a sharp shining,

Gone Baby gone, a dark figured love

When you leak into my eyes
And my eyes are shut,
I hope to see you in a darkness where everything else disappears.
Then you look at me because
Falling in to a love is to be seen
but to be deprived of being heard.
Sensation raises and my fnn yygn yygiger tips trembles
I look around and I am not seen anymore.
I say to myself only if we could lock down the time
To remain in a safe heaven of imagination – us, together.
I desire to run away with you
To walk the hills and the rivers and the clouds
and the sky closing unto us…
We would then become something other
something otherworldly,
We would not remain ourselves.

Take off my clothes and rip them and burn them because I have worn them too long. An ode to nakedness.

Take off my clothes and rip them and burn them because I have worn them too long
An ode to nakedness…A free tunnel from vulva to the earth.

The woven layers
and layers
and layers
to contain me where my flesh cannot rest.
I am made of the waters in the skies or waters in the seas
But I feel the barriers my own fingers brought upon me…
They are cutting off the bitterness of the wind .
However, the wind and I , you see; we have a complicated friendship together
I am alone and sweaty without it.

My blood-s do not want to be contained.

But all these knots knitted by my fingers…
They contain me.
From all the bitterness outside
and from all the bitterness inside.

I feel the red, pink and dark and beige flesh of mine,
it is tender,
more tender than my desires can handle.

My bloods want to drip, drip, drip
to the soil beneath me.

I want to splash myself to the dark soil deeply
I want to go in and out of it before I lay in there for eternity
I need the time…
I need a love story with it
before I sink for the eternity.

All The Stories

There has never been a thing more enchanting
Than the gaze of the innocence staring at the end of world that rises in the horizon instead of the warm sunlight…
Than the scared pair of lovers ripped violently from the destiny of reproduction and mutual destruction…

There has never been a thing more enchanting
Than the vain stare at ones’ own mirror gaze
Realising one obnoxious fact that no human can understand,
That self realisation is an impossible act.