A refugee I am, at the spot where I lost my white dreams
Time does not bring to mind my longings;
Fire does scorch my springs with its hands,
In fact I had collected the ashes of all of my loves
I am with its symphony, and walks out the infinite happiness.
My voice sounds to be the breathless wind of loneliness
Whichever direction I hurl, it feels strange to its own climate;
It carried first its clouds
Then my skin was touched by the moistness of the universe.
On my moonless nights did fall the silver rains;
Whatever left out of my dreams was gone.
Now I sit on the edge of my timid silence.
I am looking for the dazzling light of the ripped world;
It is not how it was taught
Time does not take away my sorrow all the time.
While in the dark unlit waters
Keeping nibbling into a sheet
Sorrow seems to be a heavy melancholy playing with time
Translated by Mesut Senol