I would suit very well to lean on your misty shoulder
my hair would be windblown
by the breeze of your chest
I would have stood so slim in your crowd
for the sake of a virgin prettiness
I would start from the essence to walk towards desertedness
its hand would have shaped our trust
one of its dispositions would have been taken after its fabric
I would have resembled the night
this obscure travel was meant to be
in the flames of the conscience of the words
ah, how I would have noticed it
I would have stopped for a while by a faraway glance
while I was being cross like a toy
for your being forgotten in the garden
by spreading time in the blind and mute wells
– it is a fuss about the grape harvest –
its soil would have walked like a lost offshoot
English Translation by Mesut Şenol