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He walks alone, the path unsure,
Yet sees beyond the present lure.
With eyes that pierce the veils of mist,
He speaks of truths the world has missed.

Clad not in robes, but thought and air,
He heeds no crowd, nor seeks their care.
A whisperer of winds and time,
He answers not to man nor clime.

They mock his gait, they jeer, they laugh—
Yet drink his words by quartered draught.
He is the stone the builders spurned,
Yet in his silence, worlds are turned.
An observation for the young and gifted Emirhan Nakas
Collision season of ours, it should have felt like strings in planetarium.
I still hold hidden affection in my chest,
Completely enough to fill a stadium.
Filled with patterns of anyone I ever loved, to be a mosaic museum.

Before we branched into different junctions,
If only we had collected more memories, oh the fear of oblivion.
We should've danced just like Mia & Sebastian.
It should have felt like planetarium,
Magical, cinematic, worthy of a scene, 3, 2, 1 - action.
Honoring the blessing that sword-fights the ice age in my thought-printing machine.
When that jazz song hits the false ending,
The moment fright rises and screams: "Defectively, all's landing."
Suddenly, the walls witness the rhythm's reviving;
The caged page bleeds its dead greys to green.

Losing is a hyponym of despair, by definition,
Until one can notice the "creative destruction."
Suffering with pinching feet in a cursed dance any day-
Though Marcus said, "What stands in the way becomes the way."

Rabid monsters, for your parts all were greedy.
Events are unfolding in the background,
As bite marks leave you rusty.
That's how all falls into place: the principle of "synchronicity".
4b
I never wanted to give up on you,
And it was not my plan to be the one who leaves, too.
Months passed, the only dream I hold onto:
That we both chose to change for each other as our invisible string was not meant to snap in two.

To be very well aware of the signs, from the first second,
Convinced myself you were the one, or that was what my thirst reckoned.
My soul still craves for watching eyes made by weeping cherry blossom.
I want us to sit in that park bench we kissed instead of exploding the nuclear weapon.

Yearning for being able to kiss camellia flowers of you made by twain leaves
You said it would be hard for you to leave,
Well, cutting the wire to leave you was also not with ease.
I wonder if you still keep that little keychain bear and my grey beanie,
As I am still dreaming of you, oh why to be two abandonees?
Your world is eternally complete.
You don't need to change a thing.
Your existence is already gem concrete.
A divine white hole gives off rays and transmits an unfamiliar being.

A seed that blooms into a drop of water,
A destiny, ready to be changed by the sky god.
Sprouts gushing everywhere, born from the mud.
A mother has seen it all, asks for protection against this creation, odd.

Shadows dressed as sparkling beams float around,
Befooling the pure, hoping to capture the crown.
Words as soft as pongee, elevating the snake from its hole, deep down,
Spreading the decay, now it is dead on the lawn.

The outer layer finally cracks open after forever.
Has been thousands of years, now its job is to be the cycle breaker.
Such a miraculous blessing of nature, to be no wiser:
Oh to possess a soul too serene to comprehend the tempter.

A photon is destined to proceed forwards,
One's mission only to exist for creating radiance.
Scarcely, only for a moment, for a soul sky god has its eyes over, one particle jumps backwards,
Creating another realm where signs from the future comes down to past as divine messages.

Uneasy senses overflowing from the intuition,
For those who cannot see, it is just an illusion.
One must not question sky god's compassion,
Sending signs even for those blinded by realm of skeletons.
In metro, observing quietly.
Trying to memorize every face sharply.
Looking for a sign or the one for me.
Something holy, that makes me less lonely.

Other ones don't seem to be as interested as me.
All heads bent downwards, faces dripping into screens.
I can't help but wonder why I have this habit,
A part of me craves someone worth a ring, not a sentimental labyrinth.

Perhaps a piece of me wants to be seen,
Or asks someone to be just keen.
After all, no matter how hard I suppress these emotions
I find it overflowing, oh to be a human being.

It's such a weird dichotomy,
To have the art of noticing coded in me.
I can't help but wonder,
Will I ever find someone as me, ultimately?

In my dreams the scenes unfold pretty neat.
The moment I find someone with this habit,
The time we realize we found the other half after a long bit,
Would we be making moves or just sit?

Two minds who dread starting the conversation firstly.
The real thing that scares my soul is the possibility,
Of finding the one and losing it immediately.
The one who witnesses it all, but never dares involving,
I guess that is the weird dichotomy.

Trying to connect in the metro, is it some form of grieving?
By attempting to leave something aside that I never managed to win over.
Forcing the mirror of my soul to not collide with others as judging gazes hover.
So I'll stare at the blinking station lights and fake that I am not a loner.
4
True love for me,
It wasn't when we kissed deeply.
True love for me,
It shouldn't feel like a duty-

When you put just enough effort to keep me around blindly.
True love for me,
Now I see clearly,
It was not when we didn't care to change for it.

True love for me,
It was when my mom still made food for me,
After seeing her husband's toxicity.
True love for me,
It was my mom when she still helped
The late-night assignments with me-

Even when her red life juice spilled on the floor,
After he crushed her skull to the moldy rotten door,
Only for she didn't feel like pouring her love,
Into a person full of violence and gore-

Who can't even consider his son watching and hearing the storm.
When he just needs to be four.
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