i am on a ship run aground, amidst embers and foam, and i have cast
my body into treacherous waves, am i a lab animal in my bed of icebergs?
as my arms reach out toward flowerless mornings, i listen to the boss’s whistle,
collecting infants whose laughter was severed on seas open to every malice,
while a brutal albatross waits, stealthy, for its prey, the taste of blood in my mouth,
i greet my umbilical cords, those blindfolded games, which render my gaze dead, know nothing of this.
now, ownerless toys drift across crimson waters, accompanied by consciences
never before played with so authentically, the sixth season is painted in the hues of second-rate incubators.
perhaps a utopian balloon, or a spring-time candy, who knows, maybe a forgotten mountain bike,
far removed from the mathematics of earth and sky, i wait, ravenously, for an absence of humans.
English Translation by Mesut Şenol