A howling wind, a lashing rain
A gray melancholy has fallen upon the waters
Doors are shut, the roads are desolate
Anxieties have laid siege to the city
And every hour is stained with fear
Death, a horseman poised to charge
Cuts a swathe across the maps
There are not enough shrouds to wrap the dead
Corona has leveled its bayonet
The world stands at the threshold of a breaking point
The midwife of a premature birth wanders among us
For those nursed on the insatiable hunger for profit
Their black masks slip and fall away
Their unreachable, untouchable images shattered to dust
The Angel of Death drags them, too, from their fortresses
People, mountains, and the vast sky cry out
The waters cry out, along with every living thing
Nature exacts its revenge upon the greedy
A new order stirs upon the horizon
It depends, in part, on us
Whispers the bearded sage from his portrait on the wall
April 2020, Istanbul
English Translation by Mesut Şenol