Nights That Smelling Art - Part 2

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Good night everyone, friends. You know, I share my poems with you in this series of nights that smell of art. I write all the posts of this series especially at night. To be able to feel art, poetry and literature, and reflect it to you. And I share what is going on in my mind. This is a series without any plans or programs. No plans for nights, sir.

As we grow, we build walls to ourselves. We are also excluding the rest of our children. Because human beings should be cunning, right? Pure human is useless. Be cunning so you can use us. Nobody wants a friend like Ismail Abi in "Leyla and Mecnun". Pure humor is nice, but it ruins our work. Sometimes, they must lie for us but they can not say. They are children's souls. We do not want them. As we do not want people to diminish, one day it goes away.

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I am sure, there are countless psychological researches on childhood. Childhood have been included in many teory. I still can not figure it out yet, childhood. It is not solvable. There is no responsibility and duty, and a sense of being connected, that is, family or relatives, so I think the best part is childhood. Because of that, nothing is as pleasing as any ordinary thing you do in childhood.

The happiness there is very different. Most people's opinion is that, as people get to know different people, they build themselves walls so that they can not catch happiness and purity in childhood. But I think that if a person grows up without knowing anyone, he can not find the taste in childhood. I do not know why.

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That evenings... Childhood evenings... Write a novel, sir. I think we were very free when we were kids. Someone who shouted out of the window late was would absolutely. We did not realize then, but it was the voice of freedom. Perhaps freedom is one thing. To be crowded. When you are abstracted from everything, perhaps you have fallen into the greatest prisoner. I want to share this poem that I wrote recently.

I have a white bread and I walk away

pavements are colorless

always in a hurry

single-person freedom

freedom is in the land

freedom becomes crowd

where are the marble-walled balconies?

we keep pushing my toes

there is a bread in my hand

I walk away alone at night.

this oven was smelt like my childhood

it does not smell anymore

man can not run when he wants to grow

they are putting in a mold

can not run alone

the air is illuminating

I have the bake and walk ...