If only the wind knew the direction of love,
If only the earth remained true to its own silence,
If only every gain were earned by the sweat of one’s brow,
Then our words would never be wounded by reproach,
And our path would lead us straight toward the sun.
If only a bowl of soup simmered upon the hearth,
If only the birds were not startled in the smoke-filled streets,
If only time flowed with justice at every turn,
Then our song would never fade from lip to lip,
And our voices would reach the mountains and linger there.
Oh, how the days go by: the burden is heavy, the shoulders frail
Sometimes the pen falls silent, unable to fully speak,
And humble dreams find no room within the joy
Yet, when our eyes meet, spring would blossom deep within us.
English Translation by Mesut Şenol