Are you hearing my pains' voices?

(1)

Every year…..

 Traveling train produces its voices infront of my eyes.

 It stands at the station having with it a brother or a friend.

And then it launches away just like the clouds when they launche away with rain .

Every year…

 Farewell winds knock the doors of my dullness

 And the windows of my routine, then they leave me a prisoner in boring puzzles.

Every year…

 I hear seperation songs which are played

 by a tone of a desperate guitar .

I am all alone in the station

 I am waiting a train travelled away from one.

It did not leave me an address, nor an effect.

I cry without tears

I am dream that escaped and will not come back again .

I am a heart was broken at darkness while it wasnot made of rocks.

This heart sees its hopes off, this dream sees it's dream off.

This dream is about seperated lovers just like

 the separation of sorrows when they leave a stone places.

(2)

How much I liked to leave my existing cottage in my pains' forests

 to move on travelling

I see mountains walk next to me.

I see wheat seeds waving to me from inside the fields

 while they are leaving.

I see the tears of orange go down from the eyes of stones.

How much I liked to be carried by cloudss out of this fog

traveling with me to an island the place of which I don't know

 to a city the address of which I don't remember,

 to a place where I don't recognize the faces of its residents

 to a place where I will stay for good without return.

How much I liked for my dreams to be real not fantasy,

not imagination and not illusion.

How much I liked but my hopes have nothing but

wait all the songs did not build but bridges of suicide.

(3)

I am out of place.

 I get lost in every street of the homeland.

I am out of time.

All the tone of my poems is combined

 with tears and pain .

I am out of friend.

 I am looking for a meeting

I have neither harpor nor a pain.

Life told me that life is a theatre of

endless events and roles and that we are

 puppets with strings to be played by fate and

 age hands.

(4)

All I want from this world

 is for it to walk away and I want from

it to leave us walk together.

To keep days' dust away from us to

overcome pain's ways.

I want you to be my mother's son inorder to be your mother's son.

I want to celebrate my joy with yours.

I want to remove your oain dullness and mine.

I want you always to be near me

 to feel that my way is not long .

I want you to walk besides me

 to see that nothing is impossible.

I want to revive your name in the fields of my poems

 using all sensation meaning.

I want to see from yours eyes

 temples candles lights and nights of masses.

I want for you and me everything the human hearts dream of..

So what's the point of my life

if you have gone

if you have left

if you have left died.

(5)

I want you to go backward in your memory

 to see how much purity and innocence

 did we use to have.

The sun was shinig every morning in our eyes

 the stars were shining every night to us with red and white lights.

The sea waves teased by the sands upon which

 we used to play .

We built things and things , the sea fairies.

Stood over the rocks at sunset times

 they as well played for us and for our chilhood

joyful tones.

 our feelings were flying one after the other

in the outer space full of endless lights.

The rain bow was decorating every morning

once it saw us smiling.

 the roads widened once we walked in them

 and friendship becomes more vital and more hopeful .

This age has no residence at us nor a place

 the pavements of the silent street .

launches accompanied with winter winds the

 voice of sadness including our homes which are

fed up with sleep,

 here it is not allowed for the human to be

 called human

 it is not allowed to walk in the streets

 near the bars near churches, cafes' ,and the mosques' walls.

It is not allowed to see the mountains,

 the green lands, the vallies.

It is not allowed to be any place near water,

to fly in space.

You must breath air without leaving an address here

the person lives with no eyes , no tongue

 no hands and no entity.

Sadness knows a thousands symphones that are of endless tones.

Time to us is of no matter whether it is augest

november or September

because they are all like september full of pains.

The days' taste is all the same

and the years' seasons are of one face .

All the events that impose  themselves over us are necessary ones.

Death here has a taste

two colures, the first one is a death out of time

and the other is death behind which ther is life with no death after.