we are the two shanty houses facing the day side by side
I am the pink painted and single-floor house
you are the dark yellow and two-story one
I am worn-out now and my windows look tired
while you are filled with curiosity and love
if you fall over so would I since I lean on your warmth
if I fall over, nothing would happen to you, though I do not wish it
what the wind blows is a void on my northern slope
with broken joy this is something I haven’t been able to fix
a fire left from sivas, breaking my resistance for unexpected frost
on my hair the times of the crimson sunset whine
time seems to be the stones put in the cosmos without our knowledge,
you, you touch the slim waist of the pine tree without having me unaware
it can kiss your youth without me knowing, the way we assumed
I have lost something in my childhood
I don’t have my roots neither do I my start
somebodies have taken their steps before us
in the middle of our love
even before our four walls were not built
through whose hands we were put in deprivation
I am the reflection of the pale pink color
you are though the temporary innocence of the yellow shine
my hands are not your hands
nor can you hear my silence
whereas I can hear all the earth when you smile
from the bottom of my heart
with the exhaustion of a mother
our official unhappiness was delivered to us with an ID
and our nationality is a border-transgressing put into the inside pocket of the state
should my body rise by holding on to the ground
at the most it is a roof to live under
should you lose the ability of making love of my hand on your shoulder
would you be crying to wonder why we are homeless