-I-
Like the loneliness of an outlaw,
Life in my hands is chronic.
I draw its course on torn pages.
The fears that have become a mask for my heart,
Then I make my nights bleed.
The face of my doubts wrinkles.
They betray my impatience.
Oh, my life, I’m freezing.
The wind that scatters my mind,
Always caresses the sea on the same shores.
I leave my dreams unphotographed on the streets.
And
I hang a sign around the world’s neck,
A sign that doesn’t diminish my loneliness.
-II-
Oh, colorful dream, bruised sorrow,
Tell me,
Where does a love hide?
From what path do resentful sorrows find fire?
My geography is introverted,
Its eyes mist up in deaths,
And
The betrayal of history,
From where its breath is cut off,
Our exile comes after a story,
Our language is the torn shirt of sorrows, it shivers.
I know it offers silver nights
The bleeding day that understands its mystery
That’s why every blow is a bit of revolution
Every revolution is also a bit of moonlight
-III-
I am within the reach of a forgotten carnation
The lights are bleeding, I can’t touch them, the sky is crumbling
The coffin carrying deaths was a photograph of our silence
It was our destiny that couldn’t fit into holy books
That’s why we were broken, we were bleeding
And our sorrow was wet in the same line
English Translation by Mesut Şenol