carotid artery of life cracked
there’s no one holding me
spread out on my eyelashes is the chart of the depths
from the cross-section of the cliff-herb
i am squint-eyed for the blueness
the color of hope disappeared
reality is an arrow made out of bone
is someone wondering if it is a ritual
i am at the bedside with the deep richter scale
of a child who swallowed a thrill
its hands freeze, at the solstices of fire
no way for brewing the dreams breaking dreams
after, it is like hitting a mirror of water
it is the meaning, the sound in emptiness
i am the tip of a match lighting a torch
crackled, this is the balance haste of the object
it is on the scorpion walk
there are many scouts in the caravan of fear
perhaps all of them are made out of error
i am the toe of a thought
sank into the river of the mince of life
life, it is a pick of hypothesis
an arrow, on hand for a long time,
as if it is a part of fittings
indistinguishable, whether it is dead or alive
i am the tip of the nail of the minding of life
a deafening regret symphony
harangue with an atlas strength
as long as the pebbles of the elephants come off, clay from your face
if a geomantic work was drawn which is not known by everybody
yes i am the master of the replies… ask
i am rope’s end of the nothingness scaffold in the life puzzle
this crier was meant for me, and these doomsday whistles
the elevation to take down the cave and a strong collapse
yet the wheels are smoothly turning at the mill… heart. mind is fine
one large phoenix perches on each scale pan
on my walkway, with a jug likely to break
i am the edge of sleep in forgotten nooks and crannies
English Translation by Mesut Şenol