Life had been left to drift,
It was spring;
While flowers rushed to bloom in a frenzy,
Crowning untimely sorrows,
They veiled the impatient expectations
Of lovers.
No more, it shouldn’t go this far
Since when
Since when did being “right”
Take captive
Those wild, unbridled emotions?
I could not tell.
Do not close your ears;
Listen.
What plays is not the slow, soulful melody of feelings,
But a cry for the absolute truth
And indeed,
For certainty.
The taste of a beautiful act of love
La, sol, fa, mi
Slipped right into the fluttering hair of ecstasy;
That hair, Eros’s own
Transformed into the music of notes upon the spring boughs.
We lay upon the grass, a bunch of flowers in hand,
Yet we could not unravel what was happening to us.
Just as we thought there would be one single truth, one single solution,
Our thoughts became tangled;
We created a confusion of concepts.
I understand: we put our faith in spring
Though spring,
After all, is fleeting.
What matters is painting in green
The dry branches of a strange tree
That stretch
From the steppe to the plains.
Remember.
English Translation by Mesut Şenol