elini hayata bulayan insan gibi, hayat ellerimde can vermis gibi

elini hayata bulayan insan gibi, iki kisinin arasina hic bir soz karistirmamak, su oyle dedi bu ne kasdetti dusunmemek, hayat ellerinde can vermis insanlar ne de guzel savuruyorlar her turlu kaygiyi, sel basti deprem oldu, yokoldum....hic bir kaygiya yer yok, oh mis...

oteye git birader, yeni verdik hayati topraga... Ne agladik ne sizlandik, simdi daha cesur yasiyoruz!

Bana sallanmaya gidiyoruz dediler....
Bazan inanmak istedigin seyi secme sansin olmuyor...

Bayim bu yalnizlik size mi ait? gelin paylasalim!

I put my umbrella up but I could not hide my face, not my face but my eyes, not my eyes but the pain in them...

Am I supposed to hide my pain? How can I? You will think I am insane, but how do I stop accusing myself of being lonely.. I have chosen loneliness but I cannot stand it.

Consequences follow me but I should not meet them right?

Does not my pain get his coffee yet?

Oooo he is already awake!

Good morning then!

Limbo

                                                                  

Sleep without worrying about anything. Sleep endlessly. Without thinking, and knowing that you will be awakened anyway. Do not rush anything around me, please stop talking and complaining. Silence is all I am asking for.

Possibility of awaking to life already bruised my present approaches. Setting up my alarm clock every morning should not mean that I endure to continue…to breathe in a world where people are ashamed of shyness. Sleeping is the best way to prove the world that I do not care about anything.

 Which one are you? Are you the light or are you the eye? Who brings sleep to human consciousness? Is it the light or the human eye who sacrifice?  Which one are you then? Are you the water, are you the fish? Who brings the night to the ocean? Who sleeps besides everything in it?

There are no answers in sleep, there are no questions. You and me, and others - we are all equal. Sleep is the only place that I can grasp the image of myself, and speak with you the same tongue.

Do not ask anything, I beg you, since there are no questions. And do not answer the silliest question on earth when people ask even rhetorically: “Are you sleeping?” Do not try to say you are, I beg you, then we are not equal.

There is no need to be different; there is no need to escape. We all heard the lullaby, and unfortunately, we all listened.

The Rain Prayer

When rain gets on the train
Clouds wave their hands to life
A fragile frown perches on to the soil’s face
As if it will never take a wing…

Drops abandon surface with some hope,
Conscience gazes at the rain once and for all
And sees not remorse, but pleasure instead!
Then drought settles down to the ground,
Wants to pray in the name of the sun!

Cards and letters delivered to soil
Where rain has stayed deliberately,
Every letter carries a reckless joy
As every card reflects another scream of green!

With its cracked lips
The night hides flawlessly the sadness of land in
Prayers words that are quietly begged…

Zeynep Kasap

Once you said the truth then I fell in love with the secrets...Keep them just keep as if they are yours...

Truth was not too much for me to handle
As a little child,
I lost the life in the street of mind.
Then, I wandered in the truth’s hall for a while.
I realized,
It was too late for looking for you,
Because it was too early to find myself,
 I decided waiting, alone…

Everyone was waiting where
I was waiting, eventually…
The Truth was waiting for a mirror,
Devils for a sin, and
Loneliness for a victim.
You were waiting for known
By anyone, it does not matter, beside me
I decided waiting, alone…

When I was hunted by loneliness
I realized,
I am not lonely, anymore!

I remembered you told me once
“When mirrors say a lie, I will come to you”
Since you never said “I won’t come”
I have waited, however,
Mirrors have not lie, rather
They  have elicited, purposely, every little detail!

If you have introduced me to impossible
I would never concern about the truth.
Which was not too much for me to handle…

Written by Zeynep Kasap

I will be translating your emotions my dear not your language, not your voice!

The Guillotine
She precisely was not a heroine nor was she guilty, just a woman who must not have spoken. Instead, she could have embroiled her thoughts and anger quietly on a cushion as the others. Particularly, she must not have read Rousseau and become intoxicated by his ideas; yet she should not have underlined this quote of his with her finger “Every man has the right to risk his own life in order to preserve it. Has it ever been said that a man who throws himself out the window to escape from a fire is guilty of suicide?” Was she guilty at all?
She whispered her secret desires into the bottle, threw out to the ocean, and her scream was heard all over the world. It seemed that all she could expect from life was running around like a chicken that’s head is cut off.
She took the risk of being neither heroine nor a murderer and acted alone, all by herself; it was her who stabbed him to death in his bath tab. She killed Marat; she killed a man to save thousands. It was her. Was she guilty at all? She waited for people to see and appreciate, quietly…
Is a man who throws himself out the window to escape from the fire guilty of suicide? Then she was guilty. After four days from Marat’s death, her head was cut off by a sharp knife under the Guillotine… Indeed it was Marie-Anne who was punished, but I am l'ange de l'assassinat. The Angel of Assassination, I am not dead.
Written by Zeynep Kasap



Wikipedia, Charlotte de Corday
Marie-Anne Charlotte de Corday, as known to history as Charlotte Corday, was a figure of the French Revolution. In 1793, she was executed under the guillotine for the assassination of Jacobin leader Jean-Paul Marat, who was in part responsible, through his role as a politician and journalist, for the more radical course the Revolution had taken. More specifically, he played a substantial role in the political purge of the Girondins, with whom Corday sympathized. His murder was memorialized in a celebrated painting by Jacques-Louis David which shows Marat after Corday had stabbed him to death in his bathtub. In 1847, writer Alphonse de Lamartine gave Corday the posthumous nickname l'ange de l'assassinat (the Angel of Assassination).
History 102, French Revolution
Studied Rousseau and Voltaire growing up Believed Marat was a tyrant who would cause civil war Acted alone, entered Marat’s apartment and stabbed him to death in his bathtub At trial she said "I killed one man to save 100,000.” And she executed by guillotine 4 days after assassinating Marat.
Jean-Jacques Rousseau quotes
“Every man has the right to risk his own life in order to preserve it. Has it ever been said that a man who throws himself out the window to escape from a fire is guilty of suicide?”

Dokuzuncu koy ve kovulmalar.. ama bi cakarsam sana burnun coker! Babam besyuz yasinda...

        Insanlar neden acimamisti, bi dusunsunlerdi mesela soyledikleri hicbirseyin kaybolmayacagini, birileri tarafindan hatirlanacagini bi dusunsunlerdi ama? ayipti, hainceydi...bi ah etsem karsiki dagdan duyulsundu, nedendi? (Sevgi neydi peki? sevdi emekti neyse...) butun bunlar ama neden di? yinede gozunun icine baka baka tukurulen sey ekmege surulup yenirmiydi tekrar?...iste ama bunlari soyleyince hep ben kotu oluyorum du...niye takiyorum du ki bu kadar? acik acik denmeliydi o zaman, son kovulma cok aci olmustu, yanlis olmustu, dikis tutturulabilinir sanilmisti.. iyi arkadas hatta dost falan diye bagira basilmisti....umudu olmayan insan ne yapsindi? yarimdi o yarimdi! kime siginsin di, nasil pacayi kurtarsindi?

ama sana bir cift lafim var ismini vermek istemeyen seyirci olarak kalasica... yani oyle kal zira adin bile rahatsiz ediyor artik!

sana bi cakarsam burnun coker! bu arada beni siz kovmadiniz efem ben istifa ettim!...

Gururumu 90 dereceye attim cekti, uc yasinda cocuga bile olur simdi..annem o sicaklikta yikanmaz o dedi ama kullanma kilavuzu yoktu ki gururumun, tipki benimsi gibi!!!

Suan burasi cok kalabalik, baska baska insanlar baska baska seylerin tasasini cekerken konsantire olamiyorum, su eklenmesi gerekiyor, tek basina anlam etmiyorum, bir kullanma klavuzum da yok henuz....

sen bi hele bi selam etsen, iste ben belki fabrika ayarlarima geri donerim...

Tasasinda degilim yasamanin, ama olum icin biriktirdiklerim beni en sevdigime belki goturmez....

sen, tek merak ettigim su, su an ne dusunuyosun?

yalan soyledigimde yakalanirim korkusu yasiyormusum gibi sana ulasmaya calismak, ne derim ki ne kelimem var ne dilim...ama dinliyorum, bilirsin ben iyi dinlerim...

ne az tanidin beni ne cok bi zamanda belki ne az tanidin beni, cumlelerimin icinde aradin belki unlemlerimin ama ben hakiki beni hic cumle icinde kullanmam...

simdi susmak taaa otekilerden seyretmek gerek seni, ben sana oteki sen bana beriki kalmak gerek, ama ozluyorum iste, takiliyosun insanin aklina onu ne yapmali?

belki gayet farkindayim soylediklerimin ama gayet belki emin degilim, ne yaptigimin...

gururumu 90 dereceye attim cekti, uc yasinda cocuga bile olur simdi..annem o sicaklikta yikanmaz o dedi ama kullanma kilavuzu yoktu ki gururumun, tipki benimsi gibi!!!

ne ben soylemis olayim ne de sen dinlemis ol, ne dinle ne soyleyeyim, ne sen gel ben gideyim, ne sen git ben geleyim..otursun efendim herkesler oturdukleri yerde...oturmaya geldik buraya...ne kadar cok oturursak o kadar cok yesillenilir, yesil iyidir....

simdi ikindi bir vakitte yolumu kaybettigim zaman gordugum o ustune limon agaclarinin golgesi dusen minik ama guzel evlerin hevesini yasadigim kadar hevesindeyim...acaba o ev benim olsa da o kadar guzel olur mu? yoksa sadece benim olmayisinin guzelligi mi o guzellik? 

insan cevabini bildigi sorulari ne cokta seviyor sormayi, ha bide duymayi istedigi sey icin soru sormayi...ama ne sen sor ne ben soyleyeyim, ne sen dinle ne ben anlatayim..

orselenen tariflerimin suyu cikti, soguk tuketiniz....organiktir, tamamen dogal....

Kendinden kovalananlar taniyorum, o halde rabbimi bildim...

Bir adim atsan sana on kosacak olanin kuluyum, elimden geleni yaparim
sen yeterki at bir adim, benim adim senin adin, ne hatirladim?
kacmak en iyisi ama yerini kestiremiyorum
kacmak en iyisi de sana mi senden mi bilemiyorum?

bir yurusen belki on kosarim, senden sana kacmak iyi de, bu sefer kendimden kovalaniyorum....

Sessiz yazarin kelimesi bile utanir okunmaktan...

       Yazan insanlari seviyorum, ama sessizce yazanlari en cok, boyle ariyorum, buluyorum ve okuyorum onlari...Binlerce insanin gozuyle duygusuyla kirlenmemis yazilari, tipki yitik egolari gibi kendine guvensizlik gosteriyor icinde muthis bir anlam tasisa bile sectikleri kelimeler...yazan insan cok, konusanda...ama yazinca kelimenin namusu daha cok korunmus oluyor sanki...konusunca ses tonu incitiyor kelimeyi, gozlerin, ellerin, butun azalarin ayri ayri yutuyor manayi konusunca kelimeyi...yazi yazarken seni gormuyorum, sacini ne tarafa ayirmissin, gozlerin nasil bakiyor, nasil guluyorsun, gormuyorum ya ne anlatmaya calistigini daha iyi anliyorum...Kendini ses tonuyla pazarlamaya da yer yok yazida.. en guzel!...ses tonunu iceri verip kelimenin anlamina gosteris lekesi surulmemis oluyor..herseyi ifade etmek icin tasarlamak da guzel, silmek de eger yanlis birsey demis isen..hey sana soyluyorum dibe koseye saklanarak yazan sana...devam et, durma...Sen yazinca ben diyorum ki hala kendinden once dusuncesinin onemsenmesini isteyen insanlar var hayatta!!!

Seninle bir cay icsek muhabbet etsek diyorum satir satir ne dersin? Limon agaclarinin cicek actigi ikindi bir vakitte....

Lekeledim mi? Hayir, dinle....

     Kimine ogut verdim, kimi ile sadece bazi zaman muhattab oldum, kah itildim kakildim, cok sovuldum, ama toparladim... kah bas taci edildim de ben kim bilir?...Gene ayni ben, ayni ben...
     Icimde seni tutarak lekelendim, lakin seni konusarak asla lekelemedim...Simdi ellerimde golgesi goklerin, yetiniyorum, bir gulse de bayram olsa diye, iste ne dersin bunun adina debelenmek mi? Evet sucu kendimde ariyorum ama caresizlige kas goz cizip adina sen desem daha fazla sansim olurdu biliyorum...Simdi secadesini sana fisildadigim cennetlere sardigim bir ask var, ama kiyama durmak nasip olmadi...ellerim paltonun askisi olmak icin, ben kapiyi sana acmak icin, yetistirdigim cicekler sana kokmak icin, buzluga kaldirdigim kuzu sana pismek icin, demlenmek icin cay sana, biz bekliyoruz...Sen yolu bahane edersin, belki caldim kapini duymadin dersin, gec kalislarin hep bir bahanesi var ya, dersin birsey ama ben elalemin ayakkabisini hosgeldin diye kibleye cevirmem...Kible senin...
      Belki sen her gelmeyi ertelediginde, ayaklarina edilen her bir bedduanin tutacagi oluyordur...Seni konusmayacagim artik...sen belani gelmeyi erteledigin bahanelerin icinde bogulmakta bulurken ben sadece sessiz bekliyor olacagim...Soruyor olacagim kendime ben lekeledim mi? Hayir bulacagim cevaplarimda, ben degil hayir ben degil...
      Sucu benim degil senin gidisinin asla degil, ben ayakkabinda gidecegin yollari sakladin diye sakladim onlari, sen ayaginda yollarin izi cikma pahasina gitmistin...
       Simdi sana yazdigim herseyde baskasinin kendi acisini bulmasina uzuluyorum, benim dilim donmez diyorum acilariniza....
       Saclarina dolanan ruzgarlar da, sesine karisan ugultuda, ayagina takilan her cakil tasinda benim selamim var..Ve bedduasi var uzerinde bana cikmayan yollarin, kaybolusun hep bundan...Evvel zaman icinde, sonsuz fezanin disinda, nerde kesisirse yolumuz...
       Bedduasi kabul olmayan benim dua etmeyede yuzu olmaz bilesin, dua da bekleme...

Ne bir satir, ne bir hatir...