And you return at the end of the night. With more questions then ever and fewer answers. Still the song remains the same. There is a moon over bourbon street, tonight…
You see a face. A face to quench your thirst. You stood there and watch. Is she the one ?
Yet you not only see the faces, but the person behind it. As much as they like to hide it, they always stand naked. Yet the question persists. Is that the idea ? Why do I love the thing I destroy or destroy the thing I love ?
You know the song. You must know. The one about a man who goes out at nights and… Well… You understand when you see the moon just waking up over bosphorus.
And there is always a photograph which may depict your past and future at the same time. A photo of a house with nobody there. It is always a question, is the house empty or full ? Does the owner of the shirt have somebody with him/her ? There is two chiars but ? Can you be sure ? Is the house a “home” ? How can you tell a “home” from a “building” ? Have you ever learned the difference ? Yet you still keep walking and never look back. Anyways, that was my opnion while I was turning to you…
You know you are walking towards the light and nothing should stop you. The streets will fill again with the people you love. They never leave you and never let you down. All you have to do is keep walking. There is always light for you and even if there is no light you should remember that you are the light.
Or don’t you ever turn ? In the eve of a revolution ? When you know something lies ahead and there is no time to turn around ? You may become lost in the dark ? Yet you still remember ? What do you do ?
It feels like watching a house without walls or a roof. You understand the idea which is not there anymore. It is more like an old photograph, which you know you took but can’t remember the “you” who took it while it slips through your fingers.
It was just the end of the day, the sun gace its final light and said good night. There were these guys, without caring about the city, they were fishing. I do not know if they got something but I do not think that was the point. They were just fishing. I was walking past them thinking about some jazz melodies but this was the perfect melody just flowing before me. I almost forgot about my problems for a moment there, and thought about some guys fishing, a ship on the sea, the city and the sunset. They all mixed with the melodies in my head, then I dreamed a little dream.
İt is a graceful and delicate moment before sunset. Take your wine and dive in it. Don’t be late since it does not wait for you and you may have just seconds to be there. Forget every annoying, upsetting or unworthy thing; just be there. Watch it, let go of your thoughts, let go of yourself and be just the watcher just like sun watched the earth for billions of times. Let the ideas come to you and pass you by. Understand without thinking. Remember this happened for billions of years for you to watch it. So watch it before sunset…
This is Bozcaada, filled with millions of memories. Watching it from far away makes you remember things even if you never been there. It may become your beacon on the never-ending ocean of reality even if you may never reach the shore.
You may feel the loneliness of your journey and miss home. Still that doesn’t change it, you are there and witnessing it.
Or even the sunset may have already begun and there is nothing you can do to make it stop. It makes you stand there, ignore all of the meaningless fuss of the world and witness the beauty.
The poet was looking at her face, when she suddenly said, “What good is a poem for, if the lines are not the distilled moments of life ?”. “If the poem is not a feeling beyond understanding ?”, “Would you like me or even touch my face with your fingers, if I am not made by you and if you are nothing but a poem ?”, “What good is a poem, if I cannot find the poet and fell in love ?” she asked.
The poet looking in her eyes said, “What good is a line that doesn’t tell something about you ?”. “What good is a line without true life in it, without all the misery and loneliness ?”. “Who would you be, if I would not be the poet ? Would you still be here and argue with me ? Or even would still be ? Without me?” asked the poet with all the pride on earth.
The girl smiled, and the whole world smiled with her. She didn’t know the answer but she was sure that it was there. Beyond all the mist the poet draw on the sea, she was sure that there is an answer. Then she touched the face of the poet and said “I don’t know, but who are you if you do not make me, and fall in love with me?”
The poet was speechless for a moment and the storm was gathering its power. Everyone can feel it when the nature has something to say. The poet knew the girl. Maybe she was all the poet knew at that moment. The poet was fearful and lost in the gathering storm.
The poet remembered the city they were in. The city was welcoming to both. When their love was growing and the sky was peaceful. The poet remembered a long lost friend.
The girl was there when they were looking out of the window. They shared the world and maybe this is their world which we are just guests. She thought how wonderful it could be and how awful it is now. Like two flowers on the window, they have to see eachother but never get together. Always missing and be less… Never complete…
Then with no words uttered, the time moved and it didn’t move so quickly as they wished it would. What good is a poem with no happy ending asked the girl. And what are the poets if not liars we wishe to believe. The poet remained silent, but the answer was there all the time waiting to be found. And then the circles were drawn… Yet maybe another time…
And that you feel lonely in a city with millions of people doesn’t make any sense.
And the day may go dark in the end and that too can make you sad. But still it is a beautiful day and it is your beautiful day.
And when the sun sets down:
Or fun to be had… You can never tell what will happen when you turn around the corner.
Like this guy I met in Berlin. The streets gets empty quickly in Berlin at night. You are left with buildings, and empty roads to walk with, but around the corner this guy stands just like this, without ever making an effort and you smile, miles away from home and walk past.
Ofcourse what is a beautiful day without a flower ? So here it is for your beautiful day… Smile…
I was on a roof waiting for my pizza when I took this picture. I envy the owner, because the view was so tale-like. I can almost see the movie starting with a beautiful girls just looking out of that window and dreaming, or the movie about a class-strugle with a boy just beside this window, or a psychopath fighting his demons. Whatever the story was, I was dreaming with open windows.
Some people on the street. I was going home when I took the picture. It reminds me: Isn’t it true that we cannot communicate with the ones we love most. It may be fear to be seen as what we really are, or something else, but whatever the reasons the conclusion is weird. Then again, what are we without communicating with the ones we love, just prisoners in our big grey prisons. We live funny lives…
The idea of music flowing through your body is soothing. This girl whom I don’t know was there to dance and walking twoards the light. I watched her dance, which she was good at. And I understand that some feel when they dance that idea and then that idea becomes reality and music becomes something more when it moves you.
I was listening to my guitar teacher’s (Murat Celik) first album. The first two lines were:
The night covers me up
My voice grows/multiplies and becomes the water
The lyrics took me by surprise, and created a train of thoughts which resulted in me finding out that the most fragile things are the ones that have the power to change anything and we are most powerless when we think we are powerful. Then there was this picture of a dandelion looking back at me.
Not being able to see him for years, I hope he is allright, he is still teaching me and I am thankful…
From personal experience I know that we human beings are not that smart. What we are the result of our doing. So it is no wonder, that in the end our suffering comes from our illusions we called “our ideas”. Sooner or later we will see ourselves in the traps we set and we carry our wounds always with us.