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I wished the day you left would endYet even when I was gone, you never left my heartI loved you so hopelesslyNo word can describe the feeling inside meI fell silent, hoping you would understandNeither did you understand, nor did I remain silentI opened a blank page to lonelinessCalling it my favorite colorI did not write your name with darker inksSo my white heart would not be stainedYou never truly loved meYour hands were cold, your heart was darkLoving you is a black holeThinking of you is a c

To the one with a light heart, the world feels heavy,To the one with a heart of stone, the world feels empty,To the one with a heart of glass, the world feels as if it will shatter…And how does the world seem to the one without a heart?The world crushes the one with a warm heart,The world melts and finishes the one with a heart of ice,The world shatters into pieces the one with a heart of mirror…Then what does the world do to the one without a heart?The world soils the one with a pure heart,The

A. Ali Ural is a prominent figure in Turkish literature known for his contributions in poetry, essay, and short story genres, as well as for his roles as a poet, writer, academic, publisher, and translator. Born in 1959 in the Ladik district of Samsun, he has continued his literary production alongside his work in editing, publishing, and creative writing. Life and Education A. Ali Ural was born on 9 March 1959 in Ladik, Samsun. He completed his primary and secondary education in Ankara. He earn

You brought me into this world,You fed me, gave me drink, and raised me,You wiped away my tears with a single touch,You are my beloved mother.I have hurt you many times.Perhaps my tongue spoke cruel words,Perhaps my hateful words broke your heart,Yet you always loved me, my dear mother.Though I could never say how much I love you,Though I could never express it as every child should,Though I could never embrace you or kiss you,I have always loved you deeply, my dear mother.Now you are far away f

I say your smile,it falls upon me like morning light.Then your gaze comes to mind,it cannot fit in a single word,it quietly tells an entire lifetime.Your hands...even without touching, their warmth lingers in the air,even the wind envies their grace.Your cheeks,like a pink hope blooming in the first breeze of spring.Your brows and lashes,as if delicate lines of night,holding a thousand secrets in a single glance.And most of all, your eyes...that depth which silences all words,to lose oneself the

One of the most original and enigmatic figures in modern Turkish poetry is Asaf Hâlet Çelebi. Placing him within any specific literary movement is nearly impossible. He neither fully embraced the simple, everyday realism of the Garip movement nor joined the abstract linguistic world of the İkinci Yeni. Although closely friends with Orhan Veli Kanık, Melih Cevdet Anday and Orhan Seyfi Orhon, he never remained within the boundaries of any literary group; instead, he forged a mystical and philosoph

While watching beautiful memories,silence speaks the loudest within me.Everything that was once “us”is now a solitary memory.Your smile is frozen in a video,while I am outside that moment,a stranger who watches but cannot touch.As if life went onand I remained stuck somewhere.The paths we walked togethernow exist only as directions,but there is no destination left.Because you are gone.Do you know what is hardest?It is not knowing you will not return,but realizing that even if you did,nothing wou

I am an echowhat the walls could not forget,a sentence falling back into the night.I do not know who spoke me,but each time I am born from a different mouthand each birth leaves me a little more diminished.A voice strikes me,I shatter, I multiply, I return—return—return.Empty rooms enlarge me,caves hollow out my insides and multiply my name,but I have no name to begin with,only an ambiguity traced by the traces others have left behind.I long for someone, for something,perhaps for a first voice I

No friend, no enemy,No beloved, no stranger.Every word of ours is a knife,Every silence a gravestone.Even as we destroy each other, we stand side by side.To be your enemy has become a kind of loyalty to me.Sometimes our harmony frightens me,Even when we fight, we keep the rhythm.Before you speak, I have already written my reply.You treat me like an enemy,Yet I am still, at heart, on your side.We are utterly different, yet in harmony, yet in war.Even as we destroy each other, we are made complete

It didn’t work out, my love, I couldn’t learn how to live.I began with enthusiasm, but left it half-finished.I couldn’t find a way; I grew narrow, believe me.Now, to the next one...People said, “You’ll get used to it with time.”I got used to time, but never to myself.The same thing always lingered in my mind—not me;Perhaps that’s why I became numb.Maybe I achieved some things,But I don’t know what good they did.I wanted silence, not applause,Because in silence I could hear myself.It didn’t work