zai

“Do not let me think of them too often, too much, too fondly,' I implored: 'let me be content with a temperate draught of this living stream: let me not run athirst, and apply passionately to its welcome waters: let me not imagine in them a sweeter taste than earth's fountains know.”
― Charlotte Brontë, Villette

“zeynep beni bekle / gece ağaçlarına
yağmur çiseliyorum / cam tozu su beyazı
yalnızlığını mutlaka değiştireceğim
bir yaprak halinde süzülüp saçlarına
eski teşrin'lerden / kederli kırmızı
zeynep beni bekle mutlaka döneceğim
söyle kim önleyebilir buluşmamızı
geceleyin ışıkları söndürdüğün zaman
benim şiir kitaplarından sızan aydınlık
elinde uyuyakaldığın heyecanlı roman
pancurların çarpıldığı lodos geceleri
rüzgârın değil benim / pencerendeki ıslık
her akşam koridordaki ayak sesleri
yanlış çaldığını zannettiğin telefon
zeynep beni bekle mutlaka geleceğim
hem bu ne ilk ayrılığımız ne de son
pikapta eminağa acemaşirân saz semaisi
sokakta çocuklar saklambaç hırsız polis
hayat akıp gidiyor olsam da olmasam da
saati durmamalı ufak sorumlulukların
resmi bırakmadın ya / son çektiğin hangisi
bak mektuplar birikmiş yine masamda
fakülteler açılacak bak bugün yarın
zeynep beni bekle mutlaka geleceğim
başladığımız filmi birlikte bitireceğiz
kim ne derse desin içimde delice bir his”
― Attilâ İlhan

“And if there is one more thing that I must say to you, it is this: Don’t think that the person who is trying to comfort you now lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes give you pleasure. His life has much trouble and sadness, and remains far behind yours. If it were otherwise, he would never have been able to find those words. Yours, Rainer”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters To a Young Poet

“The old oak, quite transfigured, spreading out a canopy of sappy dark-green foliage, stood rapt and slightly trembling in the rays of the evening sun. Neither gnarled fingers nor old scars nor old doubts and sorrows were any of them in evidence now. Through the hard century-old bark, even where there were no twigs, leaves had sprouted such as one could hardly believe the old veteran could have produced. ‘Yes, it is the same oak,’ thought Prince Andrei, and all at once he was seized by an unreasoning spring-time feeling of joy and renewal. All the best moments of his life suddenly rose to his memory. Austerlitz with the lofty heavens, his wife’s dead reproachful face, Pierre at the ferry, that girl thrilled by the beauty of the night, and that night itself and the moon, and … all this rushed suddenly to his mind. ‘No, life is not over at thirty-one!’ Prince Andrei suddenly decided finally and decisively. ‘It is not enough for me to know what I have in me—everyone must know it: Pierre, and that young girl who wanted to fly away into the sky, everyone must know me, so that my life may not be lived for myself alone while others live so apart from it, but so that it may be reflected in them all, and they and I may live in harmony.”
― Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace