I
I sat down with myself
upon my weight, scowled at by stone and soil
upon the ebb-and-flow stairs
I looked at a gentle letter with a hurt gaze
at its soothing wind
It is time to go while the rain has started
it is time to leave a smile to wet memories
I flew to the fish market of closed fortune
entered through the grease-scented door
of an old house pitched at random at the head of my path
its window silent, its table a nest of worms
thoroughly I observed the dying multipliers
My slavery wrapping around the ramparts of life
the unsung songs far from the destination
I listened to the ache of my feet, wounded since eternity
II
Summer has long passed over the face of the table
unvisited, unseen villages are nailed onto it
the names of exiles written
into the souls of those whose smiles are unknown
For years the tongue of fire was silent
I washed its mouth with bone-white waters
I flew with myself
they said Kasrik was impassable; piercing the sky
one night I met the Tigris, who laid its anguish open to me
III
A knife plunged straight into the heart of the apple
I was a helpless feather in the dark
as lonely as a stone trapped between two halves
child enough not to know
where the heart belongs
a pain with no record where it belongs
tired like an unravelling sweater
I was too orbit-less to return
from the journey
I remained caught in the canyons of death
I looked at a mountain, then at the sky
the abyss was defeated, in its talons
I read the earth
IV
I flew toward the fire of the sun
my hope was many branches of flowers
I was caught in a mine in Botan
I exploded in the torso of the angry scorpion
that would not fit into the womb of a geography
I had a witness here who lived
my life like a season, and I
knew nothing about them
While the rain has started, it is time for the ashes to sleep
where the rain was falling, I did not know either
where the soul peels off
I could not see its height
nor the gap of death where I was hung
English Translation by Mesut Şenol