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  • True Love, Unsaid

    True Love, Unsaid

    True love…

    may just be a tag

    phony people use

    to glorify

    their lives.

    I don’t use tags.

    I don’t use stickers

    to express myself.

    Everything raw.

    Everything pure.

    That…

    is me.

    If you can accept me

    with my impurities—

    I am ready

    to pass

    every extraction process

    of your heart.

    After all…

    my sunken eyes,

    my drunken consciousness,

    my insomniac nights—

    they tell stories

    of unfulfilled dreams.

    Even when you are asleep,

    I find you

    awake

    in my mind.

    The heart that beats for you

    no longer beats

    for those left behind.

    Maybe…

    they were just sceneries.

    And you—

    you were the entire universe

    I missed

    for years…

    and years.

  • Where the Vine Still Grows

    Where the Vine Still Grows

    A life…

    is like a vine.

    Not a sword.

    Not a storm.

    A vine.

    We twist

    to keep

    our balance.

    We twist.

    Not because we are lost…

    but because the wind insists.

    We crawl.

    Hands in the dirt.

    Knees in uncertainty.

    We grip

    our dreams,

    our desires,

    like bark in the dark.

    We reach

    without knowing

    what we’re reaching for.

    The twisting vine

    does not see the whole forest.

    It just follows

    a quiet pull.

    A sacred direction.

    Sap rises.

    Energy travels

    through invisible veins.

    Every cell remembering

    where it came from.

    And life…

    life is held together

    by support

    we do not see.

    A wall.

    A tree.

    A hand.

    A prayer.

    Still

    the vine continues.

    Expanding its reach.

    Turning emptiness

    into extension.

    Turning pressure

    into pattern.

    Beautifying

    even the broken spaces.

    And a soul so determined…

    so stubborn with hope…

    it grows.

    Even

    without

    light.

  • Forever

    Forever

    I am away from all the troubles,
    I used to think.
    But trouble follows me double.

    I am away from all the worries,
    I used to think.
    But worries
    follow me double.

    I never asked.
    I never chose.
    But life follows me

    forever.

  • The Day Meow Got More Likes Than Me

    The Day Meow Got More Likes Than Me

    Zukenberg asked me,

    what’s in your mind?

    From there,

    he started extracting mines from my head.

    I kept posting.

    One post.

    Then another.

    Flooded the whole page with feeds

    that never fed a hungry stomach.

    Made people scroll like maniacs.

    Imagine a cat posting:

    meow meow

    meow meow

    The whole page.

    Puss feed.

    Cuss feed.

    Just…

    meow

    and meow.

    Mew groups.

    Mew communities.

    When neighbouring dogs became a threat,

    the meow groups confessed their feelings.

    Zukenberg went mad.

    I had nothing to do with it.

    I tried to be a little human,

    but meow

    got more likes,

    more comments,

    more engagement

    than me.

    So I masked myself as a cat

    and started a meow podcast.

    Another meow commented,

    “oh… you sound so fake.”

    Oh leave it.

    I’ll be on YouTube.

    I appeared as a smiley guy

    doing my poetries.

    Someone commented,

    “can you write a poem for a woman?

    I want to propose on Valentine’s.”

    I was like,

    yes man,

    I was waiting my whole life

    to serve you.

    Then Instagram asked me

    to post pictures.

    Some boomerangs

    that struck my eyes.

    I nearly lost my sight.

    Someone DM’d,

    “you look so dashing,

    my parrot likes you.

    maybe you can come on a date

    with some seeds.”

    Ah no… I’m alright.

    I don’t want to be part of the feed.

    TikTok got me covered for weeks.

    I posted natural stuff.

    River sounds.

    Birds chirping.

    Ocean currents.

    Tides.

    Waves.

    And after some time…

    I got swept away

    by the feeling

    of not getting anywhere

    with anything.

    Of selling…

    and being sold.

    It’s good

    I exist here.

    With a heart of gold.

  • Kindness, Served as a Chai Latte

    Kindness, Served as a Chai Latte

    Four days of fever.

    My body woke up

    before I did.

    My voice

    was still somewhere behind me.

    But the sun was loud.

    Too loud to ignore.

    So I took my bicycle,

    thinking maybe a haircut

    could lighten something

    I didn’t know how to name.

    The barbers were Kurdish.

    Warm.

    The kind of warmth

    that doesn’t ask questions.

    They made space for my bicycle

    like it belonged there.

    I sat on the sofa.

    Watched mirrors

    practice different faces.

    Then a man walked in.

    Not a stranger to them.

    He asked,

    “What do you want to drink?”

    Tea.

    Coffee.

    Chai latte.

    He stepped outside.

    Came back.

    Opened the door just enough

    to let kindness in.

    “And you?”

    I said no.

    I usually do.

    He came back again.

    “Are you sure?”

    The scissors stopped.

    Someone laughed.

    “Jackpot,” the barber said.

    As if kindness

    were something you win.

    So I said yes.

    Softly.

    Like I was borrowing warmth.

    Later he returned

    with cups for everyone.

    It was Mother’s Day.

    He had a careful beard.

    The kind you grow

    when you take time with things.

    He handed me a chai.

    Steam rising.

    I thanked him.

    Not loudly.

    But from somewhere

    that needed it.

    I had never met him before.

    But I hoped

    wherever he goes,

    someone asks him

    what he wants to drink…

    and waits.

    The fever stayed.

    But something loosened.

    And for a moment

    I wasn’t sick,

    or shy,

    or small.

    I was just a person

    holding a warm cup

    in a sunny room. ☕🌤️

  • I Sat Beside a Flower and Listened

    I Sat Beside a Flower and Listened

    White flower, blooming in my garden,

    invited me

    to sit close.

    The buds were saying

    you can expect us

    within a few days.

    We will bloom

    in your mind

    and spread fragrance

    through your thoughts.

    The blooming one said

    oh,

    it wasn’t easy.

    Despite rain,

    storm,

    and scorching sun,

    I am indebted

    to this nature

    that I am able

    to bloom.

    The chirping of birds

    is so sweet,

    maybe sweeter

    than my fragrance.

    Bees are pollinating on me,

    and when they tickle my petals

    with their restless legs,

    I giggle.

    Clouds make

    all kinds of faces

    just to make me smile,

    to appreciate me.

    And the wind says

    oh,

    you are so lovely

    every time

    it touches me.

    I hear its whisper.

    It may have reached your ears too.

    Is that why

    you came

    to meet me?

    Or were you simply

    basking in the sun,

    strolling through the garden,

    and saw me?

    I am here

    now.

    Tomorrow

    I may be dry,

    or a strong wind

    may take me away.

    I might elope

    with the wind

    if it falls deeply in love with me

    and tries to pull me

    from my roots.

    Don’t worry

    if you find me on the ground,

    dry

    and dirty.

    That is only

    one version of me.

    You will see

    another

    tomorrow.

    Nights

    are beautiful.

    I receive kisses

    every night,

    and a sparkling gem

    that stays with me

    till morning.

    It feels like

    I am wearing

    an ornament.

    I carry memories

    of stars

    and moon.

    These astral drops

    on my petals

    may be

    their gift.

    I might be gone

    tomorrow.

    You can take

    my picture.

    And here,

    I clicked

    one.

  • Still Loading…..

    Still Loading…..

    Do you need a break? From what?

    Stop. Stop.

    Someone screaming brake

    like I am not already shaking,

    like I am not already late.

    I was driving faster, yes,

    but still within the lines,

    freeway mind,

    speed-limit life,

    you cannot just stop like that,

    you curve,

    you lean into hard corners

    and hope you survive.

    I needed a break.

    My shoulder knows it.

    Sleep does not arrive

    unless a pill opens the door

    and pretends it is rest.

    Lists keep growing.

    Days keep going.

    Everything needs attention,

    everything needs fixing,

    everything needs me.

    If I say I need a break from work,

    then tell me

    how money falls from the sky.

    Because even when it rains,

    I stay dry.

    Thirsty.

    If I say I need a break,

    even my family

    checks my words for excuses.

    My brain runs on full gear.

    Thoughts chasing thoughts,

    metal on metal,

    supersonic train,

    no station,

    no delay,

    no end.

    I want a break from screens,

    from glowing squares and rectangles

    teaching my eyes

    how to forget the horizon.

    All I want

    is sunlight that does not judge,

    air that smells like trees,

    something real enough

    to erase the perfume

    I wear for people

    I do not feel.

    My ears need a break

    from gossip,

    from future fears spoken like facts,

    from opinions loud enough

    to drown listening.

    I keep my distance from stereotypes,

    but they keep finding me.

    I hear them.

    I nod.

    I smile.

    Arguing costs too much energy.

    They shout

    to prove they are right.

    I stay quiet

    to prove I am still breathing.

    Maybe I should stop nodding.

    My neck is tired.

    My feet want roads, not floors.

    My eyes want to drink

    the silence of a lake.

    Someone put me on a big stage.

    No script.

    No rehearsal.

    One life.

    One take.

    Everything happens at once.

    So if you ask me

    do you need a break?

    Maybe not from work.

    Maybe not from people.

    Maybe

    from the noise.

    From the speed.

    From explaining.

    Maybe

    I just

    need

    a break.

  • The Ginger That Refused Me

    The Ginger That Refused Me

    I animated the ginger rabbit

    and my soul mistook that for love.

    She said,

    I don’t have feelings for you.

    Go.

    Find your way.

    I am suited only for spices.

    Your heart lacks taste.

    Even my shadow

    refuses

    the silhouette of you.

  • Are You Allright?

    Are You Allright?

    He walked in,

    considerate,

    a smile resting,

    a nod—

    then the line

    that opens doors.

    “Are you alright?”

    I smiled back.

    Someone was listening.

    I started talking.

    Blink… another blink.

    He reached another block.

    I could only see him

    in the distance.

    I was supposed to say,

    “I’m fine.”

    The most affordable lie.

    Later,

    I paid someone

    by the hour

    to listen.

    First—

    forms.

    Boxes to tick,

    asking how I feel

    before I can speak.

    I walked out

    feeling misplaced.

    I asked her,

    why not talk in a garden?

    These walls

    are closing in on me.

    She gave me water

    in a plastic cup.

    I used it

    to end my thirst.

    She said,

    “We must keep things confidential.”

    I wouldn’t mind

    if bees and butterflies listened—

    their humming sounds

    more honest

    than the silence

    I’ve carried for ages.

    Everywhere I go

    feels like cages.

    Sometimes

    to understand life

    you don’t need sages.

    Life doesn’t jump out

    from hedges.

    Solace returns

    when gratitude grows.

    Anger was nothing

    but an excuse

    for my tongue.

    Sometimes a heart

    just wants

    another heart.

    If I’m not wrong.

    Maybe I’ve slept too long

    and need

    the vibration of a gong.

    I can be the umpire

    if life plays ping pong.

    Some people

    only need one good song

    to hear every day,

    smile,

    and not wait

    for smiles in return.

    Now it feels

    like I’m back on track.

    So if I ask you—

    “Are you alright?”

    I will make sure

    to look back.

  • Employee of the Month

    Employee of the Month

    Ten jobs.

    Different rooms.

    Different faces.

    Never stayed long enough

    for the floor

    to learn

    my name.

    Some exits

    had no goodbye.

    Some wore misunderstandings.

    Some exploded into fights.

    Some limped out as plights.

    Some flexed

    with might.

    When my thread was cut,

    someone else

    was already

    flying a kite.

    I worked hard.

    Still couldn’t be the Ace in the deck.

    Same cards,

    same shuffle,

    never the one

    they played first.

    Some called me good.

    Some called me retard.

    I’ve walked like a trekker,

    backpack full of patience.

    Once ran from a man

    holding a knife,

    questioning my existence

    because I spoke

    to his wife.

    A bird leaves one branch

    for another.

    That’s survival.

    But there were times

    I couldn’t even decide

    which branch

    would hold.

    Reports?

    Perfect.

    Work?

    Perfect.

    Future?

    Doubt.

    Mind?

    Restless.

    People?

    Good enough for “hi.”

    I never learned

    a graceful way

    to say goodbye.

    I wrote about celebrities.

    Worked for artists.

    Worked for myself.

    Hired some lads,

    learned the hard way

    You can’t carry

    other people’s excuses

    on your back.

    Then abroad.

    Every finger

    pointed inward.

    Language broken.

    Confidence thin.

    Strength questioned.

    Compelled.

    Weak.

    Two years.

    One job.

    And today

    Employee of the Month.

    No fireworks.

    No victory speech.

    Just the year

    finally noticing me,

    tapping my shoulder,

    saying,

    Here.

    You stayed.

    Something small.

    Something earned.

    Something to cheer about.