Translated Turkish Quotes

The unfortunate part is that you, my dear friend, will never know, and I shall never be able to tell you, how what you say to me is translated inside me. You did not speak Turkish, no. We both employed, you and I, the same language, the same words. But is it our fault, yours and mine, if words in themselves are empty? Empty, my dear friend. You fill them with your meaning, as you speak them to me; while I, in taking them in, inevitably fill them with my own. We thought we understood each other; we did not understand each other at all.

In my heart, I knew that Whorf was right. I knew I thought differently in Turkish and English - not because thought and language were the same, but because different languages forced you to think about different things. Turkish, for example, had a suffix, -mis, that you put on verbs to report anything you didn't witness personally. You were always stating your degree of subjectivity. You were always thinking about it, every time you opened your mouth. The suffix -mis had not exact English equivalent. It could be translated as "it seems" or "I heard" or "apparently." I associated it with Dilek, my cousin on my father's side - tiny, skinny, dark-complexioned Dilek, who was my age but so much smaller. "You complained-mis to your mother," Dilek would tell me in her quiet, precise voice. "The dog scared-mis you." "You told-mis your parents that if Aunt Hulya came to America, she could live in your garage." When you heard -mis, you knew that you had been invoked in your absence - not just you but your hypocrisy, cowardice, and lack of generosity. Every time I heard -mis, I felt caught out. I was scared of the dogs. I did complain to my mother, often. The -mis tense was one of the things I complained to my mother about. My mother thought it was funny.

Coffee had made its way into English by way of Dutch (koffie), Turkish (kahveh), and originally Arabic (qahwah).

Ölümün insanoğlunun başına gelen iyiliklerin en iyisi olup olmadığını kimse bilmiyor, ama güya başa gelebilecek en büyük kötülük olduğunu sandıklarından ondan korkuyorlar. . . . Bu yüzden, kötü olduklarını bildiğim kötülükler arasından, ne olduklarını tam bilemediğim için iyi olma potansiyeli taşıyanlarından hiçbir zaman korkmayacak ve onlardan kaçmayacağım.

...az kalsın ona içlerinde kelimenin tam manasıyla yalnız kalabilmeyi özlediğim karanlık ve boş odalarımı anlatacaktım; ah ümidini hiç yitirmeyen sefil yürek...

Çünkü melek dediğin kendini sıkı sıkı dizginleyen bir köpek balığından başka bir şey değildir.

İlk olarak, dünyanın gökyüzünün ortasında bulunduğuna ve yuvarlak olduğuna inanıyorum. Bulunduğu yerde durması ve düşmemesi için ne havaya ne de başka bir desteğe ihtiyaç duyar. -Sokrates

Sadık bir dostu reddetmek, bence kendi kendimizi hayatın en aziz bildiğimiz bir parçasından yoksun bırakmaktır. ...Çünkü güvenilir insan zamanla anlaşılır, hainin foyası bir günde çıkar meydana...

— Bence de olaylar anlattığım gibi Kebes ve böyle düşünmekle aldanmış değiliz. Yeniden doğuş var, canlılar ölülerden doğar, ölülerin ruhları yok olmaz ve iyi ruhları iyi, kötü ruhları da kötü bir talih bekler.

Sanki bazı sessiz gecelerde uzaklarda çalan davulların çarpıntısı, yükselen ve alçalan, hem engin hem de belli belirsiz titreşim duyulabiliyordu; garip, insana hitap eden, davetkar ve vahşi bir sesti bu, ama sanki Hristiyan bir ülkedeki çan sesleri kadar derine işleyen bir anlama sahipti.

Bedenimiz var olduğu ve ruhumuz onun gibi bir kötülükle yoğrulmuş halde bulunduğu sürece, hiçbir şekilde arzuladığımız, gerçek adını verdiğimiz şeye bizi tatmin edecek kadar sahip olamayacağız. . . . Savaşlar, isyanlar ve çatışmalar bedenle onun istekleri yüzünden çıkmıyor mu? Göründüğü kadarıyla, arzuladığımız ve aşığı olduğumuzu iddia ettiğimiz sağduyuya, yaşadığımız süre içinde değil, ancak öldükten sonra kavuşabiliriz. . . . Çünkü ruh sadece o zaman bedenden ayrılma imkanını bulabilir, daha önce değil. Bedenin basiretsizliğinden kurtulup arındığımızda, arınmış varlıklarla birlikte olacağız ve kendi imkanlarımızla arınmış bilgiye ulaşacağız.

Dev gibi bir adamla bir cücenin, çok büyük bir köpekle çok küçük bir köpeğin ya da [uç özelliklere sahip] herhangi başka bir şeyin ne kadar nadir olduğunu bir düşünsene! Aşırı hızlı ve yavaş, güzel ve çirkin, ak ve kara ile de böyle değil mi? Her zaman uçların nadir ve az, aradaki durumların ise çok ve sık göründüğünü bilmez misin?

Her zaman güzel öten kuğular, ölümlerinin yaklaştığını hissettiklerinde, belki de hizmetinde bulundukları tanrının yanına gideceklerine sevindiklerinden, daha çok ve daha güzel ötmeye başlarlar. Ama insanlar ölümden korktukları için kuğulara iftira atarak, üzüntülerinden öttüklerini, yaklaşan ölümleri için ağıt yaktıklarını söylerler.

Azita Ghahreman, is an Iranian poet.[1] She was born in Iran in 1962. She has written four books in Persian and one book in Swedish. She has also translated American poetry. She is a member of the Iranian Writers Association and International PEN. She has published four collections of poetry: Eve's Songs (1983), Sculptures of Autumn (1986), Forgetfulness is a Simple Ritual (1992) and The Suburb of Crows (2008), a collection reflecting on he exile in Sweden (she lives in an area called oxie on the outskirts of Malmö) that was published in both Swedish and Persian. Her poems directly address questions of female desire and challenge the accepted position of women. A collection of Azita's work was published in Swedish in 2009 alongside the work of Sohrab Rahimi and Christine Carlson. She has also translated a collection of poems by the American poet and cartoonist, Shel Silverstein, into Persian, The Place Where the Sidewalk Ends (2000). And she has edited three volumes of poems by poets from Khorasan, the eastern province of Iran that borders Afghanistan and which has a rich and distinctive history. Azita's poems have been translated into German, Dutch, Arabic, Chinese, Swedish, Spanish, Macedonian, Turkish, Danish, French and English. A new book of poetry, Under Hypnosis in Dr Caligari's Cabinet was published in Sweden in April 2012. [edit]Books Eva's Songs, (persian)1990 Autumn Sculptures,(persian) 1995 Where the sidewalk ends, Shell Silverstein(Translated to Persian with Morteza Behravan) 2000 The Forgetfulness has a Simple Ceremony,(persian) 2002 Here is the Suburb of Crows,(persian) 2009 four Poetry books ( collected poems 1990-2009 in Swedish), 2009 under hypnosis in Dr kaligaris Cabinet, (Swedish) 2012 Poetry Translation Center London( collected poems in English) 2012

İlk olarak, dünyanın gökyüzünün ortasında bulunduğuna ve yuvarlak olduğuna inanıyorum. Bulunduğu yerde durması ve düşmemesi için ne havaya ne de başka bir desteğe ihtiyaç duyar. -Sokratesİlk olarak, dünyanın gökyüzünün ortasında bulunduğuna ve yuvarlak olduğuna inanıyorum. Bulunduğu yerde durması ve düşmemesi için ne havaya ne de başka bir desteğe ihtiyaç duyar. -Sokrates

Söz konusu dokumacı, bir sürü elbise dokuyup onları eskittikten çok sonra, ama son elbisesinden önce ölür. Bu söylediğim, adamın o son elbisesinden daha kısa ömürlü ve daha güçsüz olduğunu göstermez. Bu düşünce ruhla beden için de ifade edilebilir. Onlar hakkında da, bedenin güçsüz ve kısa ömürlü, ruhunsa uzun ömürlü olduğu ve özellikle uzun süre var olması durumunda birçok beden eskittiği söylenebilir.

Biliyor musun ne düşünüyorum?" diyor sonra, "İnsan denen şey, anılarını yakıt olarak kullanıp yaşamını sürdürüyor olamaz mı acaba? O anıların gerçekte önemli olup olmadığının, yaşamın sürdürülmesi açısından hiçbir önemi yok. Sadece yakıt. İster gazetenin reklam broşürü olsun, isterse felsefe yazıları; ister pornografik fotoğraflar olsun, isterse on bin yenlik kağıt para desteleri; ateşe verdiğinde hepsi sadece bir kağıt parçası değil midir? Ateş, ‘Aa, bu Kant!’ ya da ‘Bu Yomiuri gazetesinin akşam baskısı’ veya ‘Vay, ne güzel memeler bunlar böyle’ diye düşünerek yakmaz onları. Ateşe göre bunların hepsi kağıt parçasından başka bir şey değildir. İşte tam da böyle. Önemli anılar, çok önemli anılar ve hiçbir önemi olmayan anılar… hepsi sadece ve sadece yakıt.” “Biliyor musun, eğer o yakıt bende olmasaydı, eğer içimde anı çekmecem gibi bir şey var olmasaydı, çok uzum zaman önce pat diye yıkılır giderdim, darmadağın olurdum. Bir hendekte kıvrılıp kalır, orada öylece ölürdüm herhalde. Önemli olsun ya da olmasın bir sürü anıyı gerektiğinde çekmeceden çıkarabildiğim için, kabus gibi de olsa yaşamaya devam edebildim, kendimce yaşayabiliyorum. Artık bundan fazlasına katlanamam dediğim zamanları da bu sayede aşıyorum.

Ruh için bir felaket olan bu ölümü ve bu dağılmayı kimse bilemez. Durum dediğimiz gibiyse, ölüm karşısına güvenle çıkmak yanlıştır, çünkü ruhun her açıdan ölümsüz ve yıpranmaz olduğu kanıtlanmadıkça bu güven aptallıktan başka bir şey değildir. Ruhun ölümsüzlüğü kanıtlanmadığı sürece, ölmek üzere olan insanlar ruhları için korkmalı, bu seferki ayrılışla bedenlerinin kesin olarak yok olmasından çekinmelidirler.

— O halde, hayatta olandan ne doğar? — Ölüm. — Ya ölü olandan ne doğar? — Hayatın doğduğunu itiraf etmek zorundayım. — Demek ki canlılar ve hayat ölülerden doğar Kebes. . . . Öyleyse ölülerin yaşayanlardan meydana geldiğini kabul ettiğimiz gibi, yaşayanların da ölülerden meydana geldiği noktasında da anlaştık. Vardığımız bu anlaşma doğruysa, ölülerin ruhlarının bir yerlerde bulunduğunu ve oradan yeniden hayata döndüğünü kanıtlamak için yeterli bir delildir.

— Şimdiden herhangi bir yükümlülük altına girmeseniz bile, kendinize iyi bakarsanız hem bana, hem sevdiklerinize, hem de kendinize en büyük iyiliği yapmış olursunuz. Kendinizi ihmal eder ve şimdi ya da daha önce konuştuklarımıza uygun yaşamayı reddederseniz, şu an bana vereceğiniz sözlerin hiçbir anlamı kalmayacak. — Söylediklerini yerine getirmek için elinden geleni yapacağız, dedi Kriton. Ama cenazeni nasıl kaldırmamızı istersin? — Nasıl isterseniz öyle kaldırın. Yeter ki beni sıkı tutun ve sakın elinizden kaçırmayın.

I'll tell you plainly - I don't believe in a supreme being, but if you do, and your belief helps you be a better human, I'll fight for your belief till my last breath. But if your belief is your excuse for intolerance and fanaticism, then you're my child, and I am your judgment. The same goes for those intellectual buffoons who take logic as licence to condescension. Militant atheists and religious fundamentalists are both animal retards - they belong in a museum of medieval and modern artifacts, not on civilized streets.

Sonnet of Languages Turkish is the language of love, Spanish is the language of revolution. Swedish is the language of resilience, English is the language of translation. Portuguese is the language of adventure, German is the language of discipline. French is the language of passion, Italian is the language of cuisine. With over 7000 languages in the world, Handful of tongues fall short in a sonnet. But you can rest assured of one thing, Every language does something the very best. Each language is profoundly unique in its own way. When they come together, they light the human way.

Bazılarının "insan düşmanı" olması gibi biz de "düşünce düşmanı" olmayalım, çünkü düşüncelerden nefret etmek kadar kötü bir şey olamaz. Aslında düşünce düşmanlığı da insan düşmanlığının olduğu şartlarda ortaya çıkar. İnsan düşmanlığı, insanlar hakkında yeterli bilgiye sahip olmadan bir insana sonsuz güven duyup, onu kesinlikle doğru, düzgün ve güvenilir sandıktan sonra kurnaz, güvenilmez ve sandığımızdan farklı olduğunun anlaşılmasıyla ortaya çıkar. Bu hayal kırıklığı, özellikle en yakın ve en samimi saydığımız arkadaşımızda birkaç kez tekrarlandığında bütün insanlardan nefret etmeye ve hiçbirinde en küçük de olsa sağlıklı bir özellik bulunmadığına inanmaya başlarız.

Turk, Elhamdulila The Turks took up the sword, Europe trembled, shuddered. And we too in Kosova fought For our beloved freedom. They attacked with fire and sword, For centuries our freedoms were lost, The tyrant overran us: 'You are a Turk, elhamdulila!' Religion and nation were the same, Moslem and Turk were one. He wanted us to forget our very names: 'You are a Turk, elhamdulila!' He forbade our language too, To speak no Turkish was to be an infidel. It is the word of God, they told us: 'You are a Turk, elhamdulila!' 'You are a Turk, you are a Turk,' they thundered At the Albanians for centuries, And one day one of us uttered: 'I am a Turk, elhamdulila!' But no, Turks we are not! Never! Let everyone know We have always been Albanians; Religion cannot wipe that away! No, Turks we are not! But their working people we love. After times of blood and gloom We shall go forth - hand in hand! Translated by Robert Elsie

Extract from 'Quixotic Ambitions': The crowd stared at Katy expectantly. She looked at them - old women in black, exhausted young women with pasty-faced children, youths in jeans and leather blousons chewing gum. She tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, she blurted out her short speech, thanking the people of Shkrapova for their welcome and promising that if she won the referendum she would work for the good of Maloslavia. There was some half-hearted applause and an old lady hobbled up to her, knelt down with difficulty, and kissed the hem of her skirt. She looked at Katy with tears rolling down her face and gabbled something excitedly. Dimitar translated: ‘She says that she remembers the reign of your grandfather and that God has sent you to Maloslavia.’ Katy was embarrassed but she smiled at the woman and helped her to her feet. At this moment the People’s Struggle Pioneers appeared on the scene, waving their banners and shouting ‘Doloy Manaheeyoo! Popnikov President!’ Police had been stationed at strategic points and quickly dispersed the demonstrators without any display of violence, but the angry cries of ‘Down with the monarchy!’ had a depressing effect on the entertainment that had been planned; only a few people remained to watch it. A group of children aged between ten and twelve ran into the square and performed a series of dances accompanied by an accordian. They stamped their feet and clapped their hands frequently and occasionally collided with one another when they forgot their next move. The girls wore embroidered blouses, stiffly pleated skirts and scarlet boots and the boys were in baggy linen shirts and trousers, the legs of which were bound with leather thongs. Their enthusiasm compensated for their mistakes and they were loudly applauded. The male voice choir which followed consisted of twelve young men who sang complicated polyphonic melodies with a high, curiously nasal tenor line accompanied by an unusually deep droning bass. Some of their songs were the cries of despair of a people who had suffered under Turkish occupation; others were lively dance tunes for feast days and festivals. They were definitely an acquired taste and Katy, who was beginning to feel hungry, longed for them to come to an end. At last, at two o’clock, the performance finished and trestle tables were set up in the square. Dishes of various salads, hors-d’oeuvres and oriental pastries appeared, along with casks of beer and bottles of the local red wine. The people who had disappeared during the brief demonstration came back and started piling food on to paper plates. A few of the People’s Struggle Pioneers also showed up again and mingled with the crowd, greedily eating anything that took their fancy.

It was then that I made the discovery that his talk created reverberations, that the echo took a long time to reach one's ears. I began to compare it with French talk in which I had been enveloped for so long. The latter seemed more like the play of light on an alabaster vase, something reflective, nimble, dancing, liquid, evanescent, whereas the other, the Katsimbalistic language, was opaque, cloudy, pregnant with resonances which could only be understood long afterwards, when the reverberations announced the collision with thoughts, people, objects located in distant parts of the earth. The Frenchman puts walls about his talk, as he does about his garden: he puts limits about everything in order to feel at home. At bottom he lacks confidence in his fellow-man; he is skeptical because he doesn't believe in the innate goodness of human beings. He has become a realist because it is safe and practical. The Greek, on the other hand, is an adventurer: he is reckless and adaptable, he makes friends easily. The walls which you see in Greece, when they are not of Turkish or Venetian origin, go back to the Cyclopean age. Of my own experience I would say that there is no more direct, approachable, easy man to deal with than the Greek. He becomes a friend immediately: he goes out to you. With the Frenchman friendship is a long and laborious process: it may take a lifetime to make a friend of him. He is best in acquaintanceship where there is little to risk and where there are no aftermaths. The very word ami contains almost nothing of the flavor of friend, as we feel it in English. C'est mon ami cannot be translated by "this is my friend." There is no counterpart to this English phrase in the French language. It is a gap which has never been filled, like the word "home." These things affect conversation. One can converse all right, but it is difficult to have a heart to heart talk.

the Turkish language has changed so radically since the time of Kemal’s “Nutuk” that a Turk living today would not be able to understand his actual words. The speech literally has to be translated for contemporary Turkish speakers. Most important, any record, history, or document created prior to 1929 is totally unreadable by all Turks

All of these inspirations, along with a love for the place, the people and their history, have found their way into the books she’s written, which have been translated into German, Norwegian, Czech, Turkish and Slovenian. Fiona now lives in Scotland, but

Orman hem veriyor hem alıyor. Ona gelenleri de kendine benzetiyor.

Hurt strengthens the heart, Breakdown emboldens backbone. Scars shared are scars cared, I stand ready to sip your poison.

Yesterday I was a sensible infant, I studied scripture seeking holiness. Today I am a grownass nutter, Only godly gift is love's holy mess.

Bibles are expendable, Altars are expendable. Till love takes preference, God itself is expendable.

Kendine saygı göster, bir gün dünya da sana saygı gösterecek.

I don't do anything for reward, I do everything as a record, a record of conviction - a record of resilience - a record of thunder - a record of sentience. My life is a repository of what is possible if you put your petty tribalisms aside. I leave this repository in your capable hands - draw from it as you will - put it to use as you deem fit.

I don't do anything for reward, I do everything as a record, a record of conviction - a record of resilience - a record of thunder - a record of sentience.

My life is a repository of what is possible if you put your petty tribalisms aside.

Hurt strengthens the heart.

Scars shared are scars cared.

Sonetto Ramadan Il digiuno e il banchetto diventano rituali futili, se la vita viene separata dalla vita. La celebrazione del Ramadan è la celebrazione di rahmat*, Il Ramadan senza *compassione è il Ramadan senza vita. Il Ramadan non è una festa musulmana, Il Ramadan è una festa umana. Il Ramadan è un promemoria per riaccendere la nostra luce, Il Ramadan pone fine a tutti i sentimenti scortesi. L'iftar più grande è rompere il digiuno dell'apatia, con la festa dell'affetto. Per chi vive con gentilezza, il Ramadan viene ogni giorno.

Soprattutto, l’umano è la verità! Tutte le strade portano alla gente. Bella ciao, è ora di svegliarsi alla vita! Divisione e divinità non possono andare insieme.

When I crossed the hundred books mark, I genuinely thought, "I'm done". But something happened! I don't know why, but my drive towards other languages became stronger than ever. I felt, now is the time to make parts of my legacy more accessible to other languages. I have never relied on anyone in my life for the realization of my legacy, so it was obvious that I was not gonna wait for somebody else to translate my works for me. Besides, when somebody else translates an original literature into another language, it always remains a translation - it can never become an original literature of that language and culture. This I absolutely did not want. Sure, other than Turkish and Spanish, I have difficulty with other languages - that is, I am not at all fluent in them. But the point is, once I feel the language and culture in my veins, I can deliver my ideas in any language I want. And I've been doing exactly that over the years - absorbing as many cultures and languages into my bloodstream as I can that is. If you tear my heart open, you can find every single culture in the world, caringly placed and nurtured. Some call it gift, I call it intention.

Once I feel the language and culture in my veins, I can deliver my ideas in any language I want. I can write in any language, because I want to. And no, I don't use some fancy AI tools. In fact, I have an uncompromising principle against the use of AI in literature. Heck, I opted not to use something so trivial as an image containing yours truly with a mace, as cover image of "Bulletproof Backbone", because it collided with the book's anti-weaponry vision - so you can imagine my stance on fraudulent material generated by AI! What I do use, while writing in other languages, is old-fashioned dictionary - online dictionary that is, to fix things like spelling, missing vocabulary and other broken bits - which makes me a broken polyglot. And believe you me, broken polyglots are potent polyglots. I may not be fluent in a lot of languages, but after I am long gone, each of these languages and cultures will have something distinctly personal left by me to call their own. For example, I may not speak fluent German, yet if I write even one page in the German language, it'll forever become an indelible part of the German culture. It'll not be some off-key German translation of an original Naskar, rather it'll be a German literature from the vast Naskarean oeuvre. Sure, I know my limits in each of these languages, that's why I keep my sentence structure simple, which I am not compelled to do in Turkish and Spanish. But more than my limits, I am aware of my limitlessness. And once the being transcends the limits of language, culture, border and tradition, puny apparatus like intellect is bound to follow.

It's a tragic state of affairs, when we get used to the sight of blood. If the sight of blood makes you sick, it's good - it's a sign that your humanity isn't yet lost.

Painless poet cannot be, Doubtless scientist cannot be. Darkless dawn cannot be, Errorless existence cannot be.

World is my brotherhood.

Tears make us tenacious, Hindrance makes us humble. Mockery makes us mindful, Treachery makes incorruptible.

More than joy, pain brings us light. Joy makes us feel good, pain makes us alive.

Happiness shared is happiness human, Happiness hoarded is happiness animal. To share and to care are the sign of life, To hoard and to hate are the sign of animal.

Wear a smile in the face of ridicule, wear silence in the face of praise.

Defend principle, not prejudice. Support reformation, not rigidity. Be responsible, not reckless. Support correction, not conformity.

Civil Sanity (Sonnet 1631) You know what the problem is! We question love more than we question hate. We question humility more than we question arrogance. We question benevolence more than we question biases. We question integrity more than we question deceit. We question curiosity more than we question prejudice. We question character more than we question cowardice. Problem is, we question humanity more than we question inhumanity. Grow out of such prehistoric normalcy, and the world will encounter civil sanity.

Genocide is Patriotism (Sonnet 1634) National anthems count for nothing, when the nations are full of monkeys, monkeys who keep buying bloodshed, in the name of national security. Genocide is patriotism, thus teaches the textbook of defense and diplomacy. What else do you expect from legal texts, concocted by a bunch of stoneage monkeys! Monkey kill, monkey laugh - Monkeys are honored with medal! Airforce, army, navy - so many ways to maintain status quo of the jungle! The purpose of every national anthem is to enforce and maintain a status quo of war. Show me a human without national pride, I'll show you the pathway out of war.

Where there is intention, there is integration. Where there is integration, there is emancipation.

Sharing is not socialism, Caring is not altruism. Helping is not humanism, Reform is not politicalism.

World is My Brotherhood (Sonnet 1616) No neighborhood without brotherhood, No sainthood without martyrdom. Martyrdom doesn't mean dying in body, but to be lost in others' ascension. You're born with a human backbone, Don't let it be vilified by cowardice. Backbone responsible is backbone honored, Backbone responsible is antidote to malice. World is in your care, carry it with grace. No bigger disgrace than backbone bending! Find a cause that honors your human backbone, Humans can break, while animals bend for nothing. Stars-n-stripes, union jack, all trivial, for the world is my neighborhood. I got no brotherhood of cult or creed, for the world is my brotherhood.

Weakness enhances humanness.

Serenity stems from simplicity, Fear festers in frivolity. Peace stems from patience, Insecurity festers in apathy.

Superstition mustn't be forwarded as culture.

Donning the cap of curiosity, Heart firmly rooted in humility, Wielding the wonder of living morale, Be the one-sided lover to humanity.

Only food haram is the food unshared, Only kafir in cosmos is person apathetic. Only being blasphemous is being bigoted, Goodwill is godliness, wholeness holistic.

Discrimination is only symptom, distance is the culprit.

Backbone responsible is antidote to malice.

Brain is there to think human, Heart is there to feel human. Eyes are there to see human, Hands are there to be human.

Love of religion may or may not make you a good person, but religion of love always does.

Kindness is intention absolute, Goodness is belief absolute. Service is wisdom absolute, Humanity is education absolute.

Medeniyet zihinden doğar, Maymuniyet zihinden doğar. Bütün sorunlar zihinden doğar, Cevaplar da zihinden doğar.

I love, therefore I live.

What is human is also kind, Kindness is supreme sanity. Acceptance is love in practice, Love is the truest upward mobility.

Burn my books, and go lift the world! Let me live in your blood, not in books. Fetch your nerves and wield your backbone, You are the cure to the paradigm of crooks.

Genocide is patriotism.

I'm Here to Destroy You (Sonnet of Naskars) I'm not here to comfort you, I'm here to make you restless. I'm not here to enlighten you, I'm here to destroy you peaceless. When one Naskar dies, a thousand Naskars will rise. The duties of Naskar are too heavy for self-coddling cowards to carry. That's why, I'm here to destroy you, your last ounce of self care and peace. Doing what you need to sustain yourself is one thing, but to obsess over it is cowardice. I got no business with such cowardly insects, who try to hide pettiness with perfectionism. Give me ten messy vessels restless for purpose, I shall give the world 10,000 years of ascension.

I got no business with such cowardly insects, who try to hide pettiness with perfectionism. Give me ten messy vessels restless for purpose, I shall give the world 10,000 years of ascension.

Stars-n-stripes, union jack, all trivial, for the world is my neighborhood. I got no brotherhood of cult or creed, for the world is my brotherhood.

I'll tell you plainly - I don't believe in a supreme being, but if you do, and your belief helps you be a better human, I'll fight for your belief till my last breath. But if your belief is your excuse for intolerance and fanaticism, then you're my child, and I am your judgment.

Visvamuslim (The Sonnet) I'm a scientist at brain, poet and monk at heart, philosopher at conscience. If this tickles you the wrong way, it's a sign of your medievalness. Now I'm gonna tell you something, which will make even less sense, unless you're a human of the future, beyond the gutter of nation-n-sects. I'm a muslim poet, a humanitarian scientist, and an advaitin philosopher. Figure this out, and you'll crack the Naskar enigma. In an animal world of inherited division, I'm the human cure to all apish inkling. In this white heaven of fear and hate, I am forgiveness, I am Visvamuslim.

I'm a muslim poet, a humanitarian scientist, and an advaitin philosopher. Figure this out, and you'll crack the Naskar enigma.

I'm a muslim poet, a humanitarian scientist, and an advaitin philosopher.

In an animal world of inherited division, I'm the human cure to all apish inkling. In this white heaven of fear and hate, I am forgiveness, I am Visvamuslim.

Tanrınator (The Sonnet) To the christian I'm christian - to neonazism, I'm nazarene ravager. To the jew I'm just a jew - to zionism, I'm thunderahava. To the sanatani I'm advaitin - to hindutva, I'm narasimha. To the muslim I'm sufi fakir - to islamism, I'm tanrınator. To the atheist I'm rationalist, to the militant I'm apocalypse. To the intellectuals I'm an idiot, to the narcissist I'm cataclysmic. I'm a brother to every believer and nonbeliever alike. I'm the bridge that unites the shores, I'm the bulldozer that obliterates divide.

I'm a brother to every believer and nonbeliever alike. I'm the bridge that unites the shores, I'm the bulldozer that obliterates divide.

Moments are the marrow of memory, memories are the marrow of time.

Lock-n-Key (The Sonnet) I am the lock, You are the key. Sight of your smile, showers me with glee. I got no need for church-n-mosque, Got no need for God or Jehovah. These are for those seeking security, Upon love's face unfolds my Mecca. Yesterday I was a sensible infant, I studied scripture seeking holiness. Today I am a grownass nutter, Only godly gift is love's holy mess. Bibles are expendable, Altars are expendable. Till love takes preference, God itself is expendable.

Human is bandaid to human burn, Human is ointment to human yearn. Human is morning to human mourn, Human is cure born of human churn.

Human is piety to prejudice barbaric. To all inhuman hate, Human Visvabiotic.

Visvabiotic (The Sonnet) Human is bandaid to human burn, Human is ointment to human yearn. Human is morning to human mourn, Human is cure born of human churn. Human is Altair to human Vega, Human is aloe to human vera. Human is pilgrim to human mecca, Human, Poly-B to social septicemia. There is no fancy heaven, only a good fervent human. There is no book of god, only a brave godly person. Human is piety to prejudice barbaric. To all inhuman hate, Human Visvabiotic.

World is the lock, humanity is key.

Love is the bedrock of us all.

Sonnet 1609 Myself Human, Himalayan Human - broader than your schools, higher than your walls. Myself Sapiens, Serendipitous Sapiens - holier than hagiographies, stranger than quantum world. Be a Muslim, be a Christian, Be an Atheist, or be a martian! None of these means nothing at all, till we're each other's emancipation.

Istanbul to Alpha Centauri, Intolerance is not civility. If you can't tell faith from hate, You are the posterape of infidelity.

Contaminate not the sweetness of soul, with foul stench of segregated psyche. Better stand civilized, without roots, than be sentenced to inherited slavery.

Love if there is time - Love, and there is time.

Seek yourself in the joy of neighbors, You shall know the meaning of justice. Seek yourself in smiles of the world, You shall emerge as antidote to malice.

To share and to care are the sign of life, to hoard and to hate are the sign of animal.

Mockery helps build resilience.

Be a Muslim, be a Christian, Be an Atheist, or be a martian! None of these means nothing at all, till we're each other's emancipation.

Amidst the sea of joy-seeking juveniles, Be the one anomaly that feasts on pain. Seek out the pain among those around, Rush down to heal like monsoon rain.

If you can't tell faith from hate, you are the posterape of infidelity.

Goodwill is godliness.

Love if there is time - Love, and there is time. Love if there is breath - Love, and there is breath.

Happily everafter is a disney myth, In real life there's only messy evernow. Master the craft of surfing the mess, World will bathe in your sapient glow.