After Life.

 

“You can’t feel sorry for yourself. You’ve got to keep going.” 

“We’re all screwed up in one way or another. It sort of makes you normal.” 

What is grief?

 “Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.”

― Jamie Anderson

P.I.G.

 “Ob-la-di, ob-la-da" Nigerian for Life goes on.

Işığı Yaymak

 My religion is love.

Every heart is my temple. (Rumi)

Gözyaşlarının trajedisi

Her bir göz yaşı, pişmandır doğduğuna.

Bir an önce varlığını sonlandırmak ister, Gülebilsin diye yaratıcısı.

Doğum

Ölüm bir öpücük, yumuşak ve sıcak. 

Konu verdi, seçmeden, ayırmadan, sırası gelene.

Sustu lutfa eren, uçup gitmesin diye dudağından.

In transit

IN TRANSIT (for Arthur Eddington)

by Neil Gaiman

1.

To find the many in the one
he sweated under foreign skies
to see the stars behind the sun.

So space and time were now undone
reality was undisguised.
We found the many in the one.

There is no photograph, not one,
that shows the mind behind the eyes.
He saw the stars behind the sun.

Not with a sword, or knife, or gun,
a simple picture severed ties.
He found the many in the one.

Light bends around us. So we run,
as gravity reclassifies
the stars we saw behind the sun.

To see the world beyond the skies,
to know the mind behind the eyes,
To find the many in the one
he showed us stars behind the sun.

2.

Unfucked, or anyway retiring,
in the awkward sense. Retirement will never be an option.
The gruff gentleman with the cap who understands
what the numbers mean
remembers a bicycle ride when he was younger.

The smoke of the cigarettes he does not smoke kicks at his lungs
mixing with the buzz of the booze he doesn’t ever drink
a convivial pint after the ride into the country gave him such a thirst.
And afterwards they lay on their back in the stubble
staring up at the stars. Together. All the stars

Countable as the words in a Bible,
countable as the hairs on his friend’s head,
all accountable, and that is why they never truly touched.
The shadow of prison or disgrace perhaps moving between them
like the shadow of an eclipse.

And, in another life, at another time,
to see the stars behind the sun,
he takes his photographs
fighting the cloud cover. Becoming
the thing that happened in Principe.
when he proved that the German was right,
that light had weight,
half a year after the Armistice.
A populariser, but not courting popularity.

Somewhen a boy is counting stars.
Somewhen a man is photographing light.
Somewhen his finger strokes the stubble on another’s cheek,
and for a moment everything is relative.

Source: https://www.brainpickings.org/2019/10/29/in-transit-neil-gaiman-eddington/