A touch of September brushes past the edges of your eyes
Within me lies the shadow of a street growing old.
A weary wind drifts through the branches,
My life quietly sheds its layers, and they name me “evening.”
No longer do those bright lights offer any comfort,
Nor does the storm within me subside as evening falls.
It slowly drapes itself over all my memories,
While a persistent mist clings to my windowpanes.
The roads are long, and my steps are heavy and silent now,
And broken, scattered loves drift toward every stop.
The sun has long since retreated, and the sky has descended into night
I have become September itself, and my season is autumn.
English Translation by Mesut Şenol