Don’t tell me what’s on your mind.

Take me for a night drive.

We’ll take turns with the playlist.

We’ll listen in silence.

I’ll light us up a cigarette.

And we can drown in our own pollution

Of thoughts and smoke.

“Hello darkness my old friend..” Hello depression. Hello stress.

I thought visiting their graves was enough,

Exchanging thoughts and breathing the same air, for a while.

Then leaving for a more hopeful destination.

But my visits have been more frequent recently,

I thought I’d stop coming a long time ago.

And this weekend, I found an invitation as clear as daylight.

I should have never showed up.

But here I am.

Facing them, drawn to them, again.

Feeding on my weak heart.

Telling me to dig them up from the ground.

Promising me what I couldn’t achieve yet, alone.

Promising me again, that I needed them.

And I’m tempted to give in.

But the last time I did that, it didn’t turn out well.

And the recovery was painful.

So I stand there, silently crying,


Searching for the strength within me

To pull me away from that cemetery

To get over the dead.

To make peace with my living self.

I stand there trembling.

Afraid to let go.

Afraid to be alone.



A constant beep in my head,

stolen from a heart that has now ceased.

A mild type of tinnitus.

But instead of being unnoticed

when in a crowd

or in the presence of external noises,

The sound shuts off

the world and all its commotion.

A constant beep,

but if you listen closely,

You can meet Silence.

Silence and its twin, Peace.

But be ware,

Do not take shelter in that Silence…

Or you’ll come across

the internal sounds

that are like parasites

in that brain of yours.

What Home Sounds Like

It’s the sound of the TV on

Even though no one is watching

The repeat of a Turkish episode.

It’s the sound of your mother yelling

Again at someone who’s disobeying.

It’s the sound of dishes clattering

Upstairs in the kitchen,

As the maid is cleaning.

It’s the sound of your sister

Singing out of tune in the bathroom.

It’s the sound of arguments

About who started it

Between your younger siblings.

It’s the sound of speeding cars

Coming to a halt 

Because of their wreckless driving.

It’s the sound of your father 

Entering the house late at night,

Still talking business on the phone.

It’s the sound of familiarity or

Peacefulness disguised

In a noisy background.

It’s the sound of 

What I proudly refer to as