we descend for divine and supreme creatures provoke us
we see the resembling one, and the other to discomfort we surround
because love cannot force us to be more cautious
some of us know without any reason what plausible is thousands of darkness
if it dumped out on us the opportunity without touching a piece of it
yet, are we cursed that makes us opportunist
are we miserable that we are to harvest what the cursed planted
i distributed my inheritance among the sober and the drunken
i was acting in reverse to a total flat with an effort
i was imagining that there would be the guarantee of a cute look in the world
some pages i thought the feeling of bliss was a property as grandness goes though wool and the silk
yet my brother if only i would not be dumbstruck when i enraptured
i would have not left my feelings that boast about me for my flesh and blood
neither a land, nor an ungrateful villager or a lip blended
i dedicated my time to dirty and rusty things among sweeps wondering if it worked
tell me that pleasure and profit were enjoyed by the skilled persons
let that incitement I was following not come to naught
let money, strangers and intrigues witness
i was not able to retrieve either rhythm or the harmony of poetry
the logics of the poet and the world are not my task anymore
there is the distance of the light inside me and whatever you say hurts me
whatever you say i would let you know there is nothing left from my secret mission
i am not an orderly with full hair i have nothing to hide
i tucked here and there the rings of my chain and i have gone
i removed the ornament of the cities from the sovereign’s treasure
plunging into the details of the pulse in inflamed ruins
on all the things i know i motivated silently the owner
one or several of you said you know better
this is just all of the fruits of the world
the world seems to be like this if it doesn’t make one long for the carpets
the world seems to be like that when it was witnessing the very first ballad
first human being was toppled through four seasons
first time when he was being stabbed
first poet was being exiled to the world
first fetish was being made
when the fetishes harden as worshipped
when the earth darkens its shadow and demands its stature
this is that
on the face of old and new edition books
and old and new style papers
all and a great student seem to be
for a long time
like this
Translated by Mesut Senol