Bahar Geldi

Loveletter in your chest pocket, should I call you spring?

A knife wound heals, but a tongue wound festers

— Turkish proverb

Merhaba,

As you see me, roaming on your streets again dropping a letter in your chest pocket you might guess where was I all the time? Does that mean I was missed *chuckles*. Well, I was busy finding a taxi screaming art, perhaps none of it stopped. Art doesn't herald a vehicle, art is the vehicle. Arts don't walk the ways with their feet, but perhaps with their heart. And in the world that is busy screaming on roller coasters, I am still a girl who asks a random stranger to push me a little on the swing, the breeze braiding my hair, the smell of newborn jasmines and tulips in the air. If the world ever became father, and was blessed with a daughter I am sure he would name her " Spring"

(As for spring by Mahmoud Darwish)

As they say in Turkish, "Bahar Geldi!" (the spring has arrived on our door.) February isn't the month of lovers but simply love. I celebrate it by taking out time to love all the books I have collected in 17 years of my life, all the diaries and flowers pressed in them, all the words I love and songs I have cried to. The movies my eyes glow when I talk about. I don't know how this world defines love, I believe none of us is single ever. Some of us are in love, some of us are trying to get out of it, some of us are almost on its threshold, some of us are still staring at it from a distance, some of us are praying to be found by it. Until the spring will keep coming, love won't ever die.

Spring is the life in the ribs of flowers, it is their words, their poetry and their sojourn from heaven to Earth. I hope you understand the language of flowers, because you yourself seem one to me.

Often, I stand on my balcony at noon. Sun with his narcat eyeshadow on, stares at a vast world that seems to him, like his 5th standard science model. February breeze comes in the crowd and goes back alone, perhaps many of his partners travel to farther lands to let someone know, somebody somewhere has sent a selam for them.

If the wind kisses your nose tip today, Selam Dost.

If life feels like a cat's cradle game, and you are tired of seismic waves of sudden earthquakes don't forget the Nobita who was loathed was a pro at cat's cradle and so can you be :-P

Well, how did I not mention Istanbul until now. I don't stay so long without talking about it. The Grand Bazaar and porcelain crockery, The Galata and names of lovers scratched on its walls, Bosphorus never tired of standing and Blue mosque just between the night and evening. When I imagine that spring will arrive soon in Istanbul, my heart screams to be a witness.

“There's a lot Istanbul in little body of mine,

There's a lot me in a little Istanbul on face of world”

When I was a kid (which I still am XD) I used to wonder and ask "what if the letter I write never arrives at the door I am mentioning the address of?" I would rather think it is such an uncanny task. Then my dad would tell me "When you write a letter with all your heart, it finds the way, it carves the paths and it reaches the respective, however tough it might be. Because letters are alike iron bridges, when you decide to walk over them and reach somewhere, it isn't the bridge that shall walk for you, it will be you who will make the bridge walk to your destination" Nevertheless whenever my love note is found by you, I feel, I made my bridge walk till your doorway and I stepped beyond your threshold. Whenever you read my letter, a breeze blows over my face, telling the breathe I exhaled before sending has found you, disguised as hope. You must wonder why do I mention hope so much? Why do I write these anyway? If you ask me, even I don't know. I don't know what hope means or if somebody will really smile back to me through a letter? But I write with a belief that everytime you will smile back to this letter, a flower will bloom in graveyards and meadows. This way it keeps me dedicated that maybe together we are able to set up a field?

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈,

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈,

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔,

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒏 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒌𝒚,

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔,

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒔𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒌,

𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒂 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒔,

'𝑨𝒏 𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒍 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑨𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒂'

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆. 𝑨 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒖𝒏 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕.

All the ups and downs, make us alive. When your heartbeat runs parallel to hope, it means you aren’t alive anymore in medical science. A straight heartbeat is that of a corpse. These tides, these rises and falls are why we are alive. And however we deny, there's no greater adventure than being alive. Because I live, I write you a letter. If I die there will be no me, just my letters left behind. But I choose to write a million more letters to you, so I choose to live and live. Whatever it takes

Words have a long shelf life, people can die. If I have to describe myself in four words i’ll say-

Bohemian, Fairytales, Dreamy, Rebel

Tell me, what are four words that describe you? I’ll wait for your reply. Once you figure our, add your picture on this frame and write the three words beneath

WARNING- THERE’S A WHOLE CUTE STUFF AHEAD THAT MIGHT SQUEESH YOUR HEART!

~ Bahar Geldi!

Can there be a letter without music? Obviously no. Here’s my MOOOST favourite song and my most favourite show altogether. I hope you enjoy. Click here to watch

And if you are too lazy like me, here just the song for you —

I hope you could smell the parting spring in my letter, my ink is a reservoir of orchid orchestra. Before we part, let us make our rendezvous eternal with a Ghazal. Here is my favourite ghazal Nummu, by Obaidullah Aleem

And the lyrical chapter for the second edition-

With a hope to return back on her unicorn, Selam Dost,

Phir milenge. Chalte, Chalte