WITHOUT YOU
Without you, I no longer have the desire to swim in the wide river, because it reminds me of your stories. I no longer have the desire to walk among the palm trees and grapes, because they remind me of your smile. I no longer have the desire to talk, because it reminds me of your captivating voice.
Without you, my fingers are faint in the wind, the wind that made them pale like my soul. How could this happen? How could I forget? It is part of me, part of my heart that melts in the midst of a strange longing, in the midst of a strange nostalgia.
Without you, the air is not sweet to caress my glasses, and astonishment is the daughter of your barren absence. There is only a dry shadow, and you know that nothing remains of me but faint dreams. Yes, my soul is faint, and my heart is stolen.
Without you, I am a stranger on this earth, stealing the sweetest laugh from time. In my pocket, there is nothing but loss. I am not worthy of this life, I look with joy at the pictures of my memory, and smile with sadness.

WILD NIGHT
For a long time, I have been sailing in my hat, hiding behind a wild night, its strange rains touching my dewy skin, so I go out into the middle of the field, a breeze scattered here and there like old village houses. On that wild night, I catch my breath to drown in a delicate smile like a lily that does not care about the sun or eternity, for the night is a captivating life and a legendary promise of everything wonderful. Yes, it is a night that overflows with joy from its windows, and despite its calm, it has alleys that expand to glowing colors. Its stars have left an eternal mark on my dream, so I began to fade in the place like a free traveler who knows nothing about coldness, for freedom does not know sleepy lips, but rather beauty must begin to shine in her eyes, and if it were not for the fact that I do not know much about what goes on in this wild night, I would have been a unique flower exuding an unrepeatable passion.

I wonder if you'd allow me to call you "my dear"? To be a star that no other star can approach. And of all the flowers, all the eyes, all the smiles, you alone are my dear.
I wonder if you'd like me to call you "my dear," and to rejoice in your eyes, shining like green lapis lazuli, illuminating the sky like a flock of birds and dreaming butterflies.
I wonder if you'd be happy for me to call you "my dear," to chant your name by all the names, and to live in your light after a long, strange darkness.

I flow into your shadow like a very delicate morning and I wander through the corridors of my longing for you, but I find nothing but the remnants of longing that devour me like a quick meal. This morning is bright like your memory, except that I stand there under that tree waiting for you like an ear of wheat, when you pass by with all your strange splendor and strange charm. I touch my heart to get closer to you, and I look into my eyes in the mirror to celebrate with your enchanting specter. This is how I live with your mornings that scatter in the place like grapes that are still in the age of roses.

Thank you for being my friend, your presence is a gift and a joyful world. Talking to you is a sweet song and a beautiful dream, and the moments of your presence are a strange reason for happiness.
Thank you for being my friend. You are a sunshine in dark days, a shining star in dark nights, and every strange breeze removes the worries of a gloomy day. When we laugh together, we laugh deeply and when we grieve together, we grieve sincerely. You are truly amazing.
Thank you for being my friend, my gratitude to you is limitless, and my happiness with you is limitless. Your smile in the morning brightens my day and lights up vast gardens in my soul, and your words in the evening water the fields of dew inside me, unforgettable.

Who said I'm a poet? No, I'm not a poet. I just sit there on the river bank celebrating your great flood.  It's every waterfall and breeze from the pure balcony where the voice is free and every story has no end.
Yes, I am not a poet but I can count the beats of my heart honestly, and see the features of light in your eyes clearly. As for those dark walls, they do not hear the call nor see your beautiful eyes because their hearts are gray and their hands are yellow.
Yes, I am not a poet but when your hand touches my heart, I see the depths and I burn without tears.

I asked every rose in our garden and every tree near our house to tell you frankly: Every year I love you more. Today, in this charming morning I spoke seriously with the sun, and we decided to tell you one fact: Every year I love you more. It is the last night of December and what I really remember are our moments where I love you more. Now, on this night, specifically in this intimate winter moment, I listen well to you and how Every year I love you more.  When I sit next to you, I love you more, and when I talk to you, I love you more. In fact, every moment I love you more, and every year I love you more.

I will smile this morning with all my strength, its silky threads remind me of your wonderful radiance, and its colorful birds remind me of your delicate tales that plant everything unforgettable inside me. Oh sun, isn't it strange that we meet in a boat of wishes and fleeing dreams? Where your golden hand weaves paths that know no calm. Back then, I was a free wild bird carrying in its heart every story that knew nothing about volcanoes. Isn't it strange that you have all this dew? Like a kiss that dyes my soul with the colors of the rainbow, so I take out in the midst of astonishment a delicate ear of wheat that overflows with happiness from your eyes, its beginning.
This is me, oh sun, a pile of undulating outpourings; I sail towards your glowing magic that knows no night or sleep. There; longing fills the very warm streams and embraces the very warm trees, so I vanish like a tale that knows no distances.

It is very easy to kiss a flower or to travel far to the east on a long night. It is also very easy to sing in the evening when the wind caresses your cheeks like a butterfly dancing among the trees. Oh, the trees, how they love to touch the face of the river, like this with complete spontaneity. How often you told me about walking among colorful paths and that it is something that delights the heart. Perhaps one day I will find a thread or a hand to walk with. But I remember the features of bright faces that we met on evenings filled with the breeze. How their captivating fragrance dazzled me. How often we drew with us a grave, a field, and an old hat. And we breathed the dawn like new travelers who came from far away. They only spend the night among the hills and their eyes only smile among unforgettable waterfalls.

How warm is your voice. And how I love to burn in my longing for you like a candle. Then I fly in your wide space like hot leaves floating on the surface of the water carrying all the wishes.
Oh, the warmth of your eyes that envelop me with fragrance like bouquets of roses confessing to you every morning that you are something sweet. This is how I shine in my longing for you, but I become weak before your green eyes because they are simply incredible.

Isn't it nice to live in a time that fills you with love?  So, I became more transparent and smiled.  Don't you feel that many of those stars have come together? There is little left to shine love.  Yes, I know, and I know it is a matter of love, and it told me about the deep gaze.  So, extend your hand to shake hands with the depths and overcome the strange absence.  Yes, I will and we will celebrate. Imagine if I were sitting on the hill and not talking to you, what would be the fate of love?  Yes, the fate of love; It is a matter of love.