What have our hands asked
from the moist orchards?
Maybe to make the rose happy…
Then
To make sorrow cry
In its pit…
On the forehead line
in the darkness
to make a distant place nearer.
To find you in the song’s
arch;
To wither for you,
To stay stuck in you
To sleep you
in your dreams…
What have our hands asked?…
English Translation by Mesut Şenol