I began life with poetry. I was born as a word into my father’s life of paper.
Poetry taught me happiness. A happy person is a kite.
I began myself with poetry. It is the words that grow, not I.
Poetry taught me goodness. My goodness is my unhappiness.
I began to love with poetry. Not loving is a good poem.
Poetry taught me calmness. I write a prescription for calmness in my mind.
I began my restlessness with poetry. A poet at war with her own mind stirs excitement.
Poetry taught me to remain a child. I cannot wear my age upon my body.
I began my lie with poetry. Everything visible through my lie is real.
Poetry taught me evil. My most valid excuse is my loneliness.
I began to commit the crime of the intellect with poetry. I knew, I wanted, and I did it.
Poetry taught me that words are alive. Whoever reads me can hear.
I began my trouble with poetry. As I wrote, my remedy went mad.
Poetry taught me love. Love turned out to be merely a word.
I began to question with poetry. No one knows.
Poetry taught me to look at things in reverse. What I see is real.
I began to die with poetry. As I write, my soul decays.
From the book titled “My Soul Is Not in My Body” / YAPI KREDİ PUBLICATIONS / 2000
English Translation by Mesut Şenol