Ist…

Where else can I breathe more oxgen in spite of the air pollution?

Where else can I hear myself the best in spite of the noise pollution?

Where else can I move the fastest in spite of the endless crowd of millions of people?

Where else can I feel the tranquility in spite of the immense chaos?

Istanbul.

What else can I write something different about you aside from the things that have already been said by hundreds of writers, poets, philosophers, sweepers?

Now, here I am; sitting, writing, breathing in another continent. Here, it is 6.45 pm, there it is 2.45 am. Here, it will be 2.45 am, I will be sleeping. There, it will be 1 am, 7 am, 9 pm, 11.49 pm, you will never sleep, with your eyes wide open, hugging all the lucky and awake, pulling them to yourself tightly, never to let them go.

Istanbul,

Tell me something in Turkish…

An addiction of life, a sacrifice of peace. No where has ever had a story like yours.

Istanbul…

How joyful it is when there is the gentle breeze blowing over the Bosphorus, connecting the smell of Europe and Asia and places it to the top of the Leander’s Tower. How sad it is when there is the gentle breeze blowing over the Bosphorus, connects the smell of Europe and Asia and places it to the top of the Leander’s Tower… Times change, Istanbul changes the times. How confusing it is when one finds himself looking at the same scene for hours, witnessing the movement in the constancy in every second.

Istanbul,

Dear Istanbul, I missed you so much. I hope everything is fine with you. How are you, how is your family, with 13 millions members?

Istanbul:

There is no sentence, having “like”, “equals” or “such as” before, after or in the middle, that can picture you. Because you already know it, because you know yourself better than anybody can do, it is your right to be so arrogant. Arrogant and proud like the only cat of a palace, modest and faithfull like a homeless dog. Istanbul, who are you?

Istanbul!

Between love and hate, across the silence, behind the chaos, next to the palace, next to the debris, in the middle of war, in the middle of peace, called the no man’s land as well as the center of life, there it is; looking directly in the eye, making feel quilty because of existing, glorifying because of insisting on existing, there it is; implying life every minute.

Istanbul. In Istanbul,

There is everyting,

Out of Istanbul.

Istanbul,

My love…my pride,

My sight.