This text has been automatically translated from Turkish. Show Original
There are Nevruz flowers that bloom in the most barren places in Anatolia, sometimes at the bottom of a rock, sometimes among thorns, and Gülten Akın is this Nevruz flower. It blooms purple in the nooks, the more it gets bruised, the more it takes root, the soil becomes ashamed, the stone becomes ashamed. It was watered with the water spilled by the girls while carrying water from the village fountain to their homes. He has heard of exiles, births, dungeons and reunions accompanied his days.
It has witnessed poverty, suffering, dark winters, yellow heat and wars. He is a neighbor to pendants, a relative to mountain flowers, an enemy to blood flowers, and a fan of basils. Angry at winter, angry at summer.
The poet of narrow times, fine things, autumn cuts, the rose that grows out of sadness, and wet sparrows that get cold in the rain.
"Poetry is our old accomplice," My partner in crime with the line that says,
and the description of my days;
"Push me
"I don't like this age that haunts my honey" The poet who does it with his verses.
If you didn't pass through these lands, the poem would be left unfinished.
