Çocuk İnsan Çocuk Dünya

It turned into a disaster, then it disappeared, there seems to be no return. Because of a premature enthusiasm, a wrong touch, bad breath. It was magic,

It was magic, a kind of madness. Not feeling danger, not wanting attention. Defenseless and lie-free. Childish and thin. The voice of emotion and

The color of spontaneous desire. The warmth of dreams and the breadth of dreams. The cute conversation of truth and the sweet mind of life. Exhausted by pain

The strength of inexperience and inexperience. Before shame, long before anxiety descended on the night of virtue. Every time, in every situation, that price

infinite light. We started with him, we continued without him, we ended with crime. However, a magnificent attitude, a spotless look, from top to bottom...

naga meadow grass smell. Timur Fidan sprinkles a handful of stars and a pinch of flowers. It offers joy sweetened with pain, with purity

A refined laugh fest. An unhurtful, bird-chirping sage announces from the warm voice of a child with a blackberry-stained mouth:

The fog tells you to go to what you left behind, your native dreams, your homeless childhood. Go back to his first hearings, first

Listen to their songs, trust in their first take from virtue. Because God says one thing, children say everything...