And sometimes a child
Who only has a mother
And never met a father
A child
Lost the beliefs of god
And just has memories made of rust
Get used to sleep with mother’scries
A child, smokes and smiles
But mostly I was myself
Not a desperate beggar
An unsuccesful poet
An intellectua lbrothel keeper
Or a child, whose fatherdoesn’t come home
I was myself
But neither me or anybody else
Never knew who I am
When I realized that
Every breath that I take
Felt me the death.
Bilge Bengisu DÜBÜŞ,TÜRKİYE