Echoes of SolitudeA Poem by Burak Batuhan KarakusStress is a power that lingers somewhere deep in your stomach, never leaving you alone, as if it has to work at certain times of the day, following you as if it’s always by your side. At the same time, it is this very stress that keeps you on your feet and forces you to climb the ladder of success. It’s an instinct that binds you to yourself, giving meaning to your existence. Sometimes it comes to the forefront with a sinister identity, and other times it approaches like a friend, persuading you again. It also reminds you how important it is to take deep breaths, that waking up to a new day, not losing your character, not disappearing, are the keys to survival. You haven’t forgotten the value of those moments when you have endless energy. It was never easy to get to these days. It is also important to understand how to adequately express gratitude for these days. For this, it’s about smiling through the pain rather than just contemplating your life in reverse to add meaning to it. Wouldn’t it be nice to bask in the sun in Hyde Park? When you put on your headphones and turn your back on life, your troubles melt away. It's as if the world exists because you think so, and the lawns embrace you with peace. They hear your pains. They do not resent you; on the contrary, they await your return to calm them in this way. You are valuable to them; they do not question your worth and do not pull you down to gain advantage from certain situations. They respect dynamics and don't wear masks around people. They have seasonal colors, and they show them in advance, so you adjust yourself accordingly. You can't understand people who avoid involvement, because you are different. Your upbringing was different. What storms have you weathered to get to these days? You always wanted to be 25. To celebrate your age in a grand style. On your 25th birthday, you were alone. Your mother didn’t forget you, she sent smiles from the other end of the phone, but it was a time steeped in loneliness and silence rather than the birthday you imagined in your mind, a time you awaited with all your heart for humanity. You didn’t look back in anger, nor did you reproach. You took notes in your calendar to look forward. These notes make you who you are. You have always been against nepotism, treating everyone equally. You know the value of things; your treasure is your character. One day, you will return, join the flow of thoughts, and your voice will be heard. Those who tried to silence us should be ashamed; we did nothing wrong. Our fate is not sealed. We work to use opportunities and open ways for people. It is the world's most special feeling to be able to heal others' wounds, to be able to love other people. When you strive, sharing the resources and beauty you gain with them. To take steps and see the world from this perspective. All are beautiful teachings. Understanding people, devoting time to love them is a tough art. It's not easy to try to help everyone without having to convince anyone. People may think you are playing politics, but you are in love with effort. You are ready to raise children who will strive to be like you; your resources belong to the people. These are maybe the footsteps of being the voice of the people, of reaching the depths. Whoever helps you filter out the negative voices in your head and listen to the positive ones is gold. It's not easy to find those golden people, but trust your surroundings. Look into the mirror with confidence as you used to and smile. Don’t forget your smile. The shape and expression of your smile, remember these. You are always different, not the old you. Moments cannot be recorded; they fly away. So, know their value. Thanks to you, a lot of people read and found themselves. Don’t just embellish with what you leave behind, but also understand the value of these stories. Your life story is with you.
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1 Review Added on May 19, 2024 Last Updated on May 19, 2024 AuthorBurak Batuhan KarakusLondon, United KingdomAboutMy words are seeds scattered in fertile minds I paint portraits of the unseen with syllables Hang them in galleries of empathy for all to witness. more..Writing
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