Dr. Adnan Bozan

I am tired…
as if I wanted to erase myself outside my name
and carry my age on the shoulder of a stranger who does not know me…
like a shadow that has left an old body
and forgotten the path back to its beginning.

I am deeply tired…
of this journey that does not resemble a journey
but rather a slow descent within me…
where there is no ground for my steps to rest
and no sky to return my pain.

I am tired of a life without a name…
of a city that calls me and then denies me at its door
of passing faces that treat me as if I am emptiness in their memory
and of a mirror that, every time I approach it,
pushes me one step back from my own face.

I am tired of the pain of hope…
that light which hides itself in the shape of a promise
then leaves me alone in the middle of darkness…
as if hope were only a refined form of bleeding,
a wound that knows how to disguise itself so we do not hate it.

I am tired of the sighs of a sterile time…
a time that only counts small defeats
that grow inside my chest into a country of fractures
a time that passes through me without truly passing
leaving me in my place
while inside it I grow older every day.

I am tired of the scream of the night…
when memory suddenly opens its doors
and names I thought had died reappear
and voices saying: “stay…”
then vanish like a fearful light in the hands of the wind.

I am tired…
until exhaustion itself settles in my chest
not as a passing state
but as a long-term companion in my body.

And from a tree of fate with no shadow…
growing inside my soul
every day it produces a new question
and answers fall to the ground before they are formed
as if destiny writes me and then erases its signature.

I am tired of the intoxication of waiting…
that mirage that takes the shape of water
we walk toward it for salvation
only to realize that the closer we get
the more we are swallowed inside it.

I am tired of roads that do not lead to me
and of doors that resemble me in shape
but are closed before me as if they do not recognize me
as if the world is testing my disappearance every time.

I am tired of myself…
when I stand on the edge of meaning and do not collapse
when I cry without knowing how tears fall
and when questions multiply
until they become heavier than answers.

Yet I am still walking…
as if I am searching for myself in this ruin
as if the road was not created to break me
but perhaps to teach me how to endure against everything.

O my age…
if you can hear me after this exhaustion
lighten your burden a little

I am not a hero in a war against time
nor a legend of salvation
I am only…
a human being
who is too tired
and still has not found a place to contain this heart that has lost its path.

I am tired…
I am tired.