These are selected prose poems on love written in 2020. Anwer
Isn't it nice to live in a time that fills you with love? So, I became more transparent and smiled. Don't you feel that many of those stars have come together? There is little left to shine love. Yes, I know, and I know it is a matter of love, and it told me about the deep gaze. So, extend your hand to shake hands with the depths and overcome the strange absence. Yes, I will and we will celebrate. Imagine if I were sitting on the hill and not talking to you, what would be the fate of love? Yes, the fate of love; It is a matter of love.
Please touch me but please touch me smoothly because I am a flower shattering in your heart like a story of wind. Please touch me, but please touch me carefully because I am a faded shadow that has disappeared in your eyes as a shy dream. Please touch me, but please touch me on a very quiet night because I am a breeze song coming from a remote land. A cool tale I'm waiting for a warm touch, and a cold heart I am waiting for an absent touch. Flowers are sad without touching and nights are cool without touching. Please touch me so the moon wears its bright light and the sun spreads a golden braid. Please touch me because the hearts like to touch and the flowers like to touch. Here, I stand waiting for your touch with a red rose in my hands.
Here is our little lake where bird sounds. Here is our green boat, where our dreams chant their songs and our happy moments bloom; when we pick fruits. Its warm wood pleases my heart, and draws a butterfly looking at your face. I feel it here in my heart. When you touch my cheeks by your hands, and when you draw my wet name traveling on your lips, at that moment you may remember our fruits. Our boat has two hearts that I will end up in love with. It amazes me as I pick the dew memory. Among the silent twigs, between wet leaves and faint shade, we pick the fruits we have always waited for. When we pick fruits, the celebration of our hearts begins.
My father is not a legendary lover but he knew love very well, and one day he said that love in summer is more beautiful. Actually, my father was a farmer but he knew love well and on a summer day he looked at the twilight and said that love in summer is more beautiful. At that time, I was a child and I didn't know love well but I thought that love in summer is more beautiful. Now I am a southern farmer and the fields have taught me that summer is the season of love. I am from here from the south; the land of love and the land of summer, where trees are pictures of love, rivers are a stream of love and women are pieces of love. I am from here, from the south where the love in summer is more beautiful.
