Onu Yalnız Gördüm,

Orientalist Paintings

Jean-Léon Gérôme - The Carpet Merchant 

Jean Leon Gerome - Pelt Merchant of Cairo

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - An Afternoon in Algiers

Osman Hamdi Bey - Islam Priest Reading Qura'an

John Frederick Lewis - The Midday Meal, Cairo

Ludwig Deutsch - The Tribute

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - The Messenger, 1879

Jean-Léon Gérôme - The Harem in the Kiosk, 1870

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - In The Souk, Tunis (1874)

Jean-Léon Gérôme - Prayer in the Mosque

John Frederick Lewis - The Kibab Shop

(The Reception) by John Frederick Lewis

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - Return from the Festival, Algiers

Gustav Bauernfeind - Forecourt of the Ummayad Mosque

Ludwig Deutsch - At Prayer (1923)

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - Young Woman On A Terrace

John Frederick Lewis - The Harem 1841

Ludwig Deutsch - The Qanun Player

Rudolf Ernst - The Carpet Seller

Martinus Rørbye - outside the Kilic Ali Pasha Mosque

Léon-Auguste-Adolphe Belly - Pilgrims going to Mecca

Amedeo Simonetti - The Rug Merchant

Eugène Fromentin - Windstorm

Jean Leon Gerome - The Whirling Dervish

Giulio Rosati - The Dance

Jean Discart - The Pottery Studio Tangiers

Osman Hamdi Bey - Young Woman Reading

Desteğe olan ihtiyacınız arttıkça etrafınızdaki omuzlar yavaş yavaş kaybolur

seni sevmeyi ağır ödüyorum...

The most beautiful sea, hasn't been crossed yet. The most beautiful child, hasn't grown up yet. Our most beautiful days, we haven't seen yet. And the most beautiful words, I wanted to tell you I haven't said yet...

― Nâzım Hikmet

History repeats itself

A Night Beneath the Palm’s Shadow

The wind hums secrets through the date-laden trees, whispering names of those who once walked this dust, where footprints fade but never truly leave, pressed deep in the memory of the earth’s quiet trust.

Oh, moon of longing, hung low and bright, do you still remember the songs we sang? Verses embroidered in the fabric of night, soft as jasmine, where old echoes hang.

A mother calls, her voice a prayer, threading through the hush of dawn, her hands—cracked, but full of care— building futures from threads long gone.

And here I stand, between past and now, a daughter of sand, of stars, of sea, asking the wind to teach me how to love, to lose, yet still be free.

Look Milena,

"I love you the most." I say, but maybe that's not true love.

If i say, "You are a knife, and I always pierce myself with that knife", maybe I would be explaining true love.

And Milena, I can bear anything with you in my heart.

| Franz Kafka

şairler aşkı öldürdü

aşk hakkında o kadar çok şey yazdılar ki artık kimse onlara inanmıyor Bence çok normal çünkü gerçek aşıklar acı çeker ve sessiz kalır.

My Brother

I will never forgive my twin brother after abandoning me for a whole seven minutes inside my mother’s womb.

He left me there alone, terrified of the dark, floating like an astronaut in that viscous liquid, listening to how on the other side they were kissing and adoring him.

Those were the seven longest minutes of my life, and which destined him to be the first born and my mother’s favorite. After that, I would always make sure to leave places before Pablo; the bedroom, the house, school, the theater… even if it meant missing the end of a movie.

One day I got distracted and my brother left before I did, and while he was watching me with his adorable smile, a car came by and hit him.

When my twin brother died, my mother grabbed his body and yelled my name. I have not corrected her since then...

I died and my brother lived.

My Brother – Rafael Noboa