— POEM 𝒃𝒚 Ahmet Sedat Mete
A pleasant wind caresses my warm skin;
I have been waiting for days for you to come and hold my hand;
A pleasant wind caresses my warm skin;
I have been waiting for days for you to come and hold my hand;
My aim is not to hurt anyone;
The river never flows upwards;
The endless increases do not know to stop;
Your jet black hair will be filled with gray;
The scars left from the past are still deep;
Tears will fill your beautiful eyes.