Murat Yurdakul, was born in Adana on 01.01.1980. He completed his English Department at Anadolu University. He started his summer life with a story. His stories, poems and writings were published in Arıda, Kitab-I, Milliyet art, a literature, Yom literature, Ekin art literature and thought, Literatureist and Karakedi magazines.
MevzuEdebiyat.com literature analysis, poetry and novel criticism articles are published. Yurdakul’s verbal ability, which also translates poetry into Italian, Spanish and English, consists of a wide range of languages. Murat yurdakul, Advanced Spanish, Italian and English
Poet / writer;
● International poetry competition “Ventuio socket” – XIII Edition – year 2018 ‘ la voce di mia
madre was awarded the merit award in the “D peace weapons” section.
● “Espaco do ser” is a contemporary Turkish poet in a literary magazine published in Portugal
he took part in it.
● “Opa anthology” took part in the selection of modern poet anthology.
purple inside me
fall breath would fall to the edge of my face
but every woman in my night of the frightened roe that comes down to the water
the birds are cold to heaven
our hair scattered in the tender chest of the night,
it hides our shy look
kite skeleton released in almond tree
the blue of the sea wandering through my window
it smells like sadness now
growing dreams of lonely children
I come from the night of the sky
the desert mountains have left the color of desolation in the mist of their eyes
like a long grief, I went to the streets of your face with pain.
love is washed in the blemish sound of my heart
I’m in front of the mirror all night not to leave myself alone.
I’m starting with the little wrinkled morning.
to the sky of the calm kites…
let the candles flow
let the trains pass now
on the tracks the night every drop of my face
outside the snow is said softly
dirty stutter inside me grows children
in a world where you can see
still the winds work
no season warms my hands like a mother
the sardines died dead
world blood in sleep
a sweaty sky, boredom, heavy time
erase the fire of anger
it turns out it’s an old convent garden in postcards.
I’d Save my scattered breath from the breath of birds
love is everywhere
it’s a train ride inside me
it’s a good time to kiss a child
every passage of the wind licking the stone
fall to the bottom of the wall gives my life.