Laugh in the face of the sun on a cold day.
Write a whisper on the glass of your small room.
Shake your left hand warmly.
Comb your curly hair in the dark.
...
Drink your bitter coffee, for it tastes like life.
Life's bitterness is sweet when you sip it
from the cup of wishes.
...
On a journey in search of roses,
through novels, stories, and every written line,
I inhale a fragrance blended with the maze of wandering.
...
The prayers of rain
Fall upon the graves of dreams
In the eyes of life
...
In this town,
the most beautiful monsters reside.
Every day, you see them praying, celebrating, cursing.
They claim humanity,
...
In the Heart of the Ravens' Forest
Every branch, bowed, bears the moon's tears.
The wheat stalks sway toward the twilight,
...
I was crucified
like the first rose upon the cross,
They drove sharp nails into my veins,
Leaving me forsaken,
...
30 years old, born In Kurdistan Region.)
In A Normal Day
Laugh in the face of the sun on a cold day.
Write a whisper on the glass of your small room.
Shake your left hand warmly.
Comb your curly hair in the dark.
Write a gypsy poem in the language of flowers.
Talk to the black cat on the street.
Drink a cup of coffee with an old man at the café.
Walk toward the sunset path alone.
And remain silent for a while,
if possible.
To me, literature is a bottle of perfume, blending countless elements into a breathtaking fragrance. With the first inhale, you feel both joy and a sense of wonder. Each note entices you, tempting you to break the bottle, to experience every layer on its own—yet when you do, all that remains are memories.