The Poet in the Land of Strangers

The poet wanders through a strange land he knows nothing about in his sleep, singing the song of loneliness.
He is lost in thought.
He finds it strange how people embrace this world, which will surely one day be destroyed, yet is lived as if it will never be. He does not recognize the people he encounters in this land. He thinks to himself, "If only I had companions here."
But for someone to be there, there must be someone who understands; there has never been anyone who understands.
"Let no one recognize me," he says.
I did not come into being with their presence, nor will I cease to exist with their absence.
The most effective cure for happiness cannot be found in a pharmacy.
Nor can it be found in alcoholic beverages.
It is found in solitude and desolation.
This solitude protects you from sorrow, grief, and pain.
It protects you from treacherous people.
It keeps you away from those who, despite everything you have done for them, do not stand by you like a mountain; those who turn ungrateful before you.
You walk a long road, thinking about these things, without realizing it.
Suddenly you stop and ponder darkly, "Who am I?"
As you try to make sense of your existence, these words slip from your lips:
I am a poet.
I was created from dust, dirt, and mud.
Like everyone else, I pledged to serve my purpose in creation.
While believing I was walking toward that purpose,
I often strayed onto wrong paths.
I wandered alone in a huge crowd.
I stood distant from everyone, yet equally close.
I thought I was living,
But it turns out my years have flowed away in vain.
I cursed the empty years that passed,
But what can you do?
What's left when the gone are gone?
Should I now blame the devil for all the mistakes I made
While wandering down the wrong paths?
Should I pretend I'm flawless?
Should I eat everything and say, "My heart is pure"?
Should I find excuses for my mistakes, my sins?
Should I be like everyone else?
I condemned myself to a huge loneliness.
Because I chose to be myself.
I didn't play a role.
I wasn't two-faced.
I didn't bow down to those who thought the world revolved around them.
I told them to their faces that they were actually 'nothing'."
Suddenly, his eyes open.
It turns out it was all a dream.
He gets out of bed, gets ready.
He goes out into the narrow, dark streets again;
He begins to walk slowly.

Author: Sidar Sevimli