THE END OF HEAVEN

Tears are swimming in the pool of aches and pains
Lies fly in the sky with an attempt to contradict reality
Honours are left in the pot from which I drink anguish
Hours are in the temptation to lose their originality
Minutes have embodied into an unknown realm
Desert my soul as in the very beginning of heart
Insert the sword of tensions into my very existence
Make me cry day and night, putting a trace of loneliness
Make me lose count of the seconds I feel inside your vein
Kill that insanity, turning me into a rush hour of emptiness
I have given into the time line that charges me with all the ups and downs
There is no expectation for me as to the coming and appearance of tomorrow
I am aware that the things to get born for me are the moments of sorrow
Terrified of that world and the ignition of that body, Okan bleeds like the murdered man
Asking who I really am, I bring myself to the kneels and hands of thunderous tan
The rhymes of any poem have become senseless and pointless as for the fragile turmoil
Now I am starting to make a preparation for the accumulation of gravestone soil

Written by

Okan Emanet

the literature of loneliness