What a horror it is.

In the frozen moments that remain mesmerized.

“Humanity in another human.”

It’s as if our eyes remind us of each other.

I saw God in my dream and died.

The moment when my heart was alone under the high sky.

If he/she took my hand.

Everything was finished.

But as if a person has fallen again from their high heavenly position.

I fell asleep.

Like a child who seems to know.

There is no return when leaving.

I only shouted; no… don’t go.

Tonight, whatever rain falls, it is for me.

Life dies.

There, where the sufferings are stronger than bones.

You are not here to see.

How much I have suffered, mother.

My life.

Dirty and thin.

From dream to dream.

Oh, my hungry and meaningless days.

My poor heart!

You must be happier than staying in my heart.

But in the indifferent eyes of fate.

How sad it is.

Meeting of the Thieves and Bandits.

Tonight, whatever rain falls, it is for me.

They threw life off their shoulders into the valley.

In the furnace lies the path of suffering and hope.

And the old man runs towards home.

Until he feels ashamed.

“How short is the path of faith!”

Here, nothing can survive except for bullet teeth.

Split the chest open to the depths of pain.

The bullet hole has been found!

I told him/her I won’t die.

That crumbling down a small stone does not diminish the awe of the mountain.

But why does the mother cry from the seas?

Tonight, whatever rain falls, it is for me.

Flying is the truth of making a bird to the sky.

“And the suffering of truth is human.”

So why?

Should we account for enduring suffering?

Hold on to death!

See what you have done with us.

How have you abandoned us.

I wish I knew.

Which hand will gently pull your body out from under the rubble.

In the broken ice of fate, in which…

Does a human become a human by standing still?

Tonight, whatever rain falls, it is for me.

Only birds sit on thorny wires.

The clocks stare at the prison.

That they have experienced the cage themselves.

Beyond the night.

The thorny wires scratch the clouds.

They were definitely birds, if the wind didn’t carry them away.

They were definitely birds.

Abraham was certainly alive.

Tonight, whatever rain falls, it is for me.

And man is faced with the endless helplessness of this long robe.

How lonely it is with its sorrows.

If not.

All these tears at the foot of this tree.

Surely a sprout is growing from it.

We have died on this platform many times.

And every time anew.

Our cry takes refuge from one mouth to another.

Oh mother, look.

Men are cold, but the living are even colder.

Tonight, whatever rain falls, is for me.

He is tired.

Let your light shine gently.

At dawn, unaccompanied funerals.

“That no man’s shadow returns home alone.”

Let it die.

Blood that cannot return to its own veins.

“That which is dying.”

It does not remain on the ground.

Not in the soil.

Tonight, whatever rain falls, it is for me.