Gloomy Sunday

After a failed attempt
Of having my last smoke of the day
My tired body couldn’t wait
My windows were full
Illuminated with late night people
Having their Saturday night talk
Stuck in the dark street
Plundering my tiny window
And my good night smoke
I fall asleep

Something woke me up
Maybe the new cold
Or the sound of still moving blades
Of my fan
sooner or later I have to stop
In darkness
Night owls went to sleep
Leaving silences for me
And my cigarettes
At my windows
I looked up
Lighting my late night cigarette

Something has changed
I could listen to my smoke
It’s inarticulate voice
Silencing the the silence

It was already the gloomy sunday
-I checked my phone to confirm

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Fall Winter

I have always wait for November
Not because of my birthdays
I don’t really care about it anymore
Or ever did
Somewhere
In the cold wind
When October ends
And I forget to close my curtains
Letting the mist come
Making me cold
I curl up in my bedsheet
Half asleep half awake
Half looking for a thicker quilt
Half enjoying the first cold
November is coming

My mum didn’t know
I would come
Early like always
Or the first sign of it
Being premature
Ready to face the world
It rained in chills
Making it more cold
In summer land

November is coming
I could see it in the horizon
In my favorite faded filter
The trees are vanishing
In gray mists
Someone soon will close the windows
Of my favorite window seat

-Maybe I don’t like November
I like waiting for it.

16 Southern avenue

He thought
I was falling asleep
In between his cozy blanket
And blue bedsheet
I think It was blue
At least how I remember it
An old cracky bed
Covered perfectly
With aromatic bedsheet
Washed off memories
With costly detergents

Somewhere it was stuck
In lint balls
And in mattress
I could smell the dust
he thought I was falling
Asleep
I was falling in love

Someone said
Dusts are made of dead skins
In an old house
Bookshelves covered with people
Long gone from home
I wasn’t looking for books
Leaving his bed
Leaving him confused
I found my ghosts

I think he is gone too
Leaving his skins behind
Somewhere in the mattress
Under a newly covered bedsheet
Or in books
Impossible to read
Someone else will come
Covering them with smell of detergents
Overwhelmed by the palace
And marble table
The quiet balcony
Hidden behind the flame tree
Alone
Unaware of the ghosts
Stuck in the house

My friend
I think he never knew
I was good in bed too

Bad poem

White flower blue flower
Did you return home
Somewhere in a watery Street
I was waiting alone
Yellow leaves green olives
Long digested chocolate
Wrappers floating with me
My red boots how did you forget
I rhyme or don’t rhyme
The sky will be this gray
My favorite October sky
And my favorite word stay
White flower black water
Did you find home
Somewhere in watery train
I can give you some.
-make love

Blank pavement

I tried to write something short
For so long
I no longer remember time
And wasted so much digital space
Writing debris
Gushing words
Out of my jaded hand
I could have done something better
Buying nail polish
Holding hands
Stroking my brother’s back

Hands are funny
It touches everything
Even hearts
Putting it in by pass
You can hold it
If you try

If I try
I can write
Something without words
Maybe I have done it too
Somewhere while walking on the street
Letting my hands hang
Worry free
Something started with a smile
And baffled steps
I think legs has better stories
Than hands

Cheap cigarettes cheaper tea

Have I ever referred to the fact
That I hate coffee shops
I hardly know any of those
Jazzed up in a colour full city
Bringing joy
Grace
I listened to people’s declamation
Of aromas
And digitalised grains
Of monochromatic blues
Clinking porcelain plates
Wrong knives and forks
I don’t have any table manners
Demurred eating with dessert knife
And serving fork
And the bourgeois smell of brown coffee

Some places even allow us to smoke
Big filters small cigarettes
Empty packets of same ashes
All killing us
I never liked passive smoking

Green tea doesn’t really look green
So those love birds
Sex birds
Somewhere in between
Watched them all the time
Passing those coffee shops
In a tin can
Moving van
I almost reached home

Jesus Christ

Scattered in horizon
I could see the season of mist
The tiny droplets of water
Glued in the atmosphere
Restraining my schedule
I despise getting late

I remember the cold and gray face
Of my students
Muddled along indisciplined
What do they know of anti discipline
Trial for my great expectations
Like the winter in a torrid place
Walking through water
Yet skins dry as hell

People know of rain
And not having rain
Somewhere in between it
There is season of mists
Some waters just float
In atmosphere
You would know if you are too early
Before the sun
You would know if you are getting late

Trend setter

Every morning I wake up
And think of smoking a cigarette
When everyone is sleeping
The glacial dawn
From a hot country
Finally winter was coming
I could see that
In the darkness
Of fall

My head hurts
The heat of sun
Will make it worse
In couple of hours
And smoke
Sometimes I find no difference
In smoke and sun
Enduring fire
Away from our lips
Tanning my skin
Tanning my lungs
And a stabbing pain
Behind my eyes
I should settle for an English gray afternoon
Or at least
My cuppa tea
The dawn has melted it’s ice
My spurious curtains
Luminescing The colour pallet
Of coming year
I think that’s how trends are born
Of colours and art
Us, failing to have a cigarettes
Somewhere in between to early
And too late.

Early morning

One of my colleague
Who is a poet too
Said I write
Without letting anyone know
How do I feel.
I wanted to say something
About feelings
But it was too early
Like today
Right now
Too dark
For sound of silence
Colour of skins

Last night
Whilst gobbling my anxiety pills
After ages
With pounding heart
And unclear guilt
I remembered my brother
He would have understand
How do I feel

The mistakes I have made
With me, in life
The sound of my own voice
Is killing me
“What will happen when we are done
With physical attractions”
I forgot how many times
My head has recited
In different voices
From past
“I don’t wanna ruin the friendship”

I think I see a little light
My favorite dawn is coming
As my colleague said
No one knows how I feel
It doesn’t matter
I think I am to unimportant
To be a friend
Like dawn
Alone
Whilst people sleep
With love and dream of love
Or no love at all

My friends cursed white skins too much
I have dissented for so long
My friends
What do they know of my feelings
“Was he closed to you”
No I don’t long for closeness
I long for memories
Like those  fishes my mum brought
Yesterday
To fry it and cook it with love
And how they swam
Who knows where
When I let them go

No one was ever close to me
My racing heart is a ticking bomb
Sometimes it burst
To remind me
The death of my every friendship
In my embryo
Strangled by umbilical cord
And I am still trying
Like a hopeless mother
I desperately need my men-o-pause.

A point of view

I saw myself
Crawling upwards
Of the staircase
Of my childhood home
And a childhood poop friend
Long lost
I wouldn’t poop without her
On a news paper
Every morning
Weird I know
But remembering things
When I was six months old

Few friends
From school days
Two pencil boxes
One crying little child
The first and last men
Cried for me
And two sordid lads
Tried hard to drop me
From stairs
Of my school
And us
Watching the skeleton
At our forbidden second floor
In our free time
I was the brave one
I was four

Twenty years later
In a morbid day possible
Pain of losing myself
Guilt of making friends
Again
I found a new colleague
An unknown face
Connected with all my memories
Memories I never supposed to have
A train I almost didn’t get
Somehow everything goes well
With me

I hated sharing my emotions
My brother
My bad days
I hated naming us friends
Sleepy,
Entered my classes
For eight hours
Teaching my kids
Beautiful french words,
The graph of trends
Introduction to obsolescence
And then the new introduction begins
“You are being human for the day
It will be over”
My best friend said
The day is over
I don’t care about the word friends anymore
It’s just a word
Like my first friend
My poop buddy
Some of us create
Bio waste
But we need them
For the time being
my new colleague
with all my impossible memories
Sparking fire of cloud and speed
When I lost my relic
Somewhere in a tangible realm
Hope stays
With me
Like always
To find Destruction