Life is a struggle

Her scorching scream

Is as silent as death.

A crusade 

Within her conscious

In black and white form.

Fighting the polluted air

Reaching anyone 

But those who cannot hear.

Her throat is bleeding

The harder she tries.

But that is reality, it seems.

You cannot voice everything

You want to express. 

You cannot word the feelings 

The way it exists within you.

She might not be able to scream 

As she would prefer

But she will sigh

Until she can roar

Like the Lioness that she is.


You construct 

Your own figure



You present yourself

To this world

And creatures that live in it.

Some assent with the person you are.

Some toy with you and your emotions,

And as they trifle, 

Your personality adjusts.

The pieces of the puzzles 

Of these situations

Are rearranged

To help you strive and overcome.

But even if the puzzles seem to fade

And you adapt 

With whatever is left 

In your life

One piece of each event


A default. 

A reminder.

A leftover that will not rot

To protect you. 


Death feels so distant

Yet it lurks nearby.

It observes your doing,

The things you do to others,

More importantly to yourself.

It grins with your sins

And smiles softly at the benevolence 

Of your heart.

It sleeps with its eyes open.

Does it have two eyes like us humans?

Does it feel?

Will it feel the pain you have 

When it takes your soul?

Will you even be in pain

Or will you die peacefully?

Will you be surrounded with loved ones

Or will you be alone, unnoticed?

Will you see its form before you leave?

Will it reveal itself

Or will it be wearing a black coat 

As the stories are told?

Will it show you the choices 

You have willingly led?

Will it comfort you

Before sending you away?

Will it be a judge

For your sins?

Will it be a friend 

For taking you from a chronic pain

Or an enemy 

For taking you from a gay life?

You don’t know, do you?

You can’t ask Death 

Even though it’s closer than you think it is.

In fact, Death would probably

Be the one with the questions.

Asking you what you have done 

What you have given



The whats and the whys. 

Will you be able to answer then?

Are you even prepared?

Because I know…

I am definitely not.

Your synonyms.

If you are dangerous,

I am ready to take the risk.

If you are contagious.

I am ready to be sick chronically.

If you are lethal.

I am ready to die between your hands.

Because I already know 

That you are fire,

As I have burnt with desire.

I already know 

That you are a devil,

Possessing my innocent soul.

I already know 

You are the dark knight,

Who rises even where there is no light.

And I have just known that

You are time,

The unit of which I have depended on in Life.

First encounter

It’s the sound of his breath as he gasps and swallows nervously. 

It’s the sound of the air he slowly lets out, as if I’ll steal away his breaths. 

It’s the sound of his steady heart that was stuck on one beat, starting to accelerate – one thump after the other. 

You can see him being aware of his heart pumping so fast like he’s on a rollercoaster ride that just went down the slope. 

You can see his eyes glaring right through me, like he’s trying to read my mind.

You can see his eyes tracing every detail in my face, my neck, my collarbone, my shoulders.. then back to my face as I raise an eyebrow or two. 

Then a smile on his face is formed. 

The way his skin just extends from the midline to the sides,

His lips stretching, eyes drooping, cheeks puffing. 

Oh those droopy eyes of his;

I would kiss them one by one, as a sign of gratitude that he found pleasure in a face and body like mine. 

I would also brush my nose against his nose, softly kiss the tip of his nose – 

And find him take advantage as he steals away a kiss.. 

I would be caught off guard that I shriek and quickly recover as I indulge myself within the grasp of his eager mouth. 

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