Success
Most people in this world are failures,
yet this world does not belong to the failed.
Humans are born flatterers of the successful.
When a person becomes successful,
society plays instruments behind him,
searches for sadness in his past.
If there is no such sadness in his life,
then they dig up the incident of falling from a bicycle in childhood.
These later become motivational stories.
Therefore, success is more important than your personality.
We Are Ours
One day if a fierce storm blows away my home,
you become my home.
Give my body shelter on your chest.
Tie me tightly within the fold of your shawl,
so no storm, no flood washes me away.
Give me only this certainty,
you are mine, I am yours and we are ours.
The Beauty of Life
Life is as beautiful as a faint smile.
When someone has crushed you with hurt,
yet you smile, truly smile.
As beautiful as this sight is,
life is just as beautiful even with the burn of unfulfilled desires.
Waiting for the Meeting
Who knows whether I will ever see you again?
I haven’t seen you in ages, your memories devour my mind.
Leaving my body in your search, the soul wanders the earth,
and when I look for it, I find it in your courtyard.
Do you know?
How much I burn waiting to meet you?
How deeply I long to see you again.
A Faultless Life
The departure that becomes nourishment for you to find someone more caring,
the disappearance that becomes happiness for you,
I wish I could fade even farther than that.
Even by force, may God remove me from your way,
so your life becomes faultless, free of someone like me.
Your Name
I didn’t realize you lacked fuel so terribly.
That’s why you showed such care in preparing the burn,
you poured water of affection at the root of the tree,
brought the message of love into the tree’s life.
And once it became worthy of burning, you cut the root.
The tree has no happiness today, no food or sleep,
day and night its lips utter only your name.
Lost Love
A handful of rice, the gamble of survival, will consume life.
Our love will die long before that.
When the body crosses seventy years someday,
perhaps in long hours of idleness it will return to memory,
the thousand-year love I lost to the handwriting of fate.
Enemy of the Soul
Those who mingle with the soul,
the ones we know as family.
Those whom the soul seeks as friends,
their behavior is what strangles the soul.