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Unutamam Asla Seni

Artık Ağlamam

Kamuran Akkor - SEV YETER

Dokunsam ağlar mısın 
Düşünüp o yılları 
Bir dokun bin ah işittim senden 
Bu kadar kolaymıydı vazgeçmek benden 
Ağlasam duyarmısın feryadımı 
Yüzüme bakarmısın son kez 
İçimde yorgunluğun, mutsuzluğun 
Sebebi bir tek sensin bu umutsuzluğun 

Kalbim yıllar geçse de affetmeyecek 
Bilsem ki gözyaşım hiç dinmeyecek 
Sensiz bu son gecem bu son sabahım 
Tadı yok bu mevsim ayrılıkların 

Bilsem ki bir daha hiç dönmeyecek 
Bilsem ki gözyaşım hiç dinmeyecek 
Utanmam yenilmem mutsuzluğuma 
Şimdi sensiz cehennemde yaşlanacağım



Serdar Ortaç - Bilsemki

Neslihan - Hiç Sevmedim

© 1997 – 2025 Lance Thomas Davidson. All Rights Reserved. 
Unauthorized duplication or reproduction in any form is strictly prohibited.

I’m always drawn back to the streets where I’ve been,
The houses, the whispers, the ghosts in between.
A brownstone waits in the East Seventies’ rain,
Where memories linger and echo again.
It held my first room, with its attic decay,
Red velvet chairs where the sunlight would fray.
A color of tobacco stain ran through the wall,
And Rome hung in prints down the narrow hall.

There was one small window and a rusted grate,
A fire escape staring down at fate.
Yet my spirit rose when I felt that key,
Cold in my hand but it welcomed me.
It wasn’t much, yet it felt like mine,
The first place I’d cross that sacred line.
My books were there, my pencils too,
Dreams of a writer just coming through.

Oh, that room was dark but it carried my flame,
I whispered my stories and carved my name.
Every night I swore I’d be,
The one who’d write eternity.

Never thought I’d write of Holly’s grace,
Her laughter still haunts that lonely place.
Didn’t think I’d ever recall her eyes,
Till Joe Bell called through gray October skies.
He ran that bar around the bend,
A stubborn heart, an honest friend.
His voice came rough through the telephone line,
He said, “Get here fast, it’s time, it’s time.”

I took a cab through the thunder’s fall,
Past mirrored windows and iron walls.
Dreamed she’d be there, her shadow near,
But only silence filled my ear.
Joe Bell was there, the mirrors old,
The rain outside turned brass to gold.
He poured one glass, said, “She’s gone again,”
And the jukebox hummed a requiem.

He talked of Holly like she’d just gone out,
Said he still took messages, still kept count.
He spoke of her smile, her reckless run,
Of ice hockey games and a Weimaraner’s fun.
He’s got his fixations, they never fade,
Our Gal Sunday and songs Broadway made.
He swears he’s kin to Gilbert or Sullivan’s rhyme,
But the truth is he’s married to time.

That bar’s a shrine with its mirrors cracked,
Two reflections, one looking back.
Neon avoided the window’s glare,
Only the rain painted color there.
I sat and listened, the moment froze,
The ghost of Holly brushed my clothes.
She was there in the hum of the venting heat,
In the tapping rhythm of New York’s beat.

Oh Holly, girl of cigarette smoke,
Your laughter still drifts through the words I wrote.
You ran from men, from love, from blame,
But freedom’s just another name.
If I could see you one more night,
I’d tell you your wings still catch the light.
Though you vanished beyond the dawn’s divide,
Your song still rings down Lexington side.

Now years have gone, the city’s changed,
Brownstones cleaned, the ghosts rearranged.
Yet every time the seasons turn,
I feel that same old fire burn.
The key still cold, the dream still young,
The same old stories left unsung.
And somewhere high above the town,
Her spirit drifts and won’t come down.

So here’s to rooms with broken floors,
To lonely hearts and open doors.
To every soul who dares belong,
To every writer’s first-born song.
I’ll walk those blocks till memories fade,
Where shadows fall and dreams are made.
And when my name dissolves in stone,
I’ll still be singing, not alone.

I’m always drawn back, I always will be,
To that brownstone dream that set me free.
The rain still falls, the typewriter hums,
And Holly’s ghost forever strums.
Down Lexington, where echoes blend,
Some stories never find their end.


© 1997 – 2025 Lance Thomas Davidson. All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized duplication or reproduction in any form is strictly prohibited.



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