Your face, your race, your name, your aim,
Makes no difference to us as long as we feel your pain.
We give all we can,
Heart, soul, veins, voice, breath...
Dreams, wishes, reveries, songs, poems, and the rest...
Whatever we find we dive in,
And fall in love with odd and weird things,
Bizarre, bizarre...


(Barefoot Baldhead)

Bizarre, selfishly weird...
Bizarre like all the weirdos,
Bizarre, like all those who feel the joy and pain of being bizarre as easily as they breathe,
As bizarre as the existence of these weirdos in the world.

To be, “bizarre,” is a subject that I’ve wanted to write at great length about and yet, at the same time, hesitated to ruin it within the confines of simple words.

As impossible as it is for one to pick a favorite child, I’ve struggled to find the one piece that reflects my very core, the one that shows who I really am. To this day, "Bizarre," is the most candid and sincere creation that reflects who I am not only to you, the audience, but to myself as well.

Like a vicious hawk clawing at my breast and splitting my ribs or a delicate feather settling on my soul with refreshing lightness, “Bizarre,” is the confidant and partner of everyone who seeks the world. It is the hymn for those whose pillows are the stones, whose beds are the earth, and whose blankets are the heavens themselves. “Bizarre,” is for those who set off on their journeys with the


Wherever you are, whatever shape you’re in,
When you hear the call of, “Come!” deep in your soul;
“Come said our sultan; we heard, we woke, and we came. To not would be bizarre...”

The words of the poet, this, “dervish of secrets,” Yalınayak Başıkabak speaks to our souls from his heart and hails us with his welcomes. We look forward to the future, for more conversations, and leave our next meeting and exchange of ideas in fate’s hands.

Mercan Dede