Bulamadд±m - Д°brahim Ећiyarв Dost

He struck a chord. The sound was low, hollow, and thick with the dust of a thousand lonely roads.

Now, an old man with silver hair and eyes that had seen too much, Şiyar had returned to his empty home. He looked out at the vast, uncaring world. He realized that his search was over, not because he had found what he was looking for, but because he finally understood the nature of his journey. Д°brahim ЕћiyarВ Dost BulamadД±m

He began to sing, his voice raspy and weighted with the gravity of time: "Derdimi söyledim, dost bulamadım..." (I told of my sorrows, I could not find a friend). The Flight of the Lone Bird He struck a chord

He remembered the great earthquake of his middle age, when his barn collapsed and his livestock perished. He had stood in the debris, looking at the road, waiting for just one of the many men he had helped to appear on the horizon. No one came. He had to clear the heavy timber alone, his hands bleeding, his back bending until it threatened to snap. There was no hand to pull him up from the dust. The Wanderer's Search He looked out at the vast, uncaring world

He gave his heart freely, believing that the world operated on a sacred law of return.

"Sırtımı dayadım, bel bulamadım. Düştüm tutacak, el bulamadım..." (I leaned my back, I found no support. I fell, I found no hand to hold).