your talk was like sharing the promenade of the clouds
clouds dispersed, then your voice quieted
later solitude turned in a fretful wound
it was like your faintheartedness fed by the crime of innocence
my venom blended with pleasure
i cry where graves proliferate
that was why i was away from stations
and the cuts i made on my face
my multiplied names were lost in fact
this is not a comment, this is to fix a story, this is a complaint
assume this is winking of a poet, inside of him is the fireplace
to take back the meaning he attributed to the names and to repent
overflowing a simple game into the night
walking out on the day, waiting for the death
assume it like this, say that for his own demise this is his lament,
imagine that he was a migrant who got lost like repenting the earth.
see it just like the complete fall of a slaved sprinter.
let my writings be the last words of a – lonely as his soul – resistance fighter.
i buried that echoless call
reaching the beloved forever
there might be some time to be sorry for.
this is all i can do. leave the consequences for me.
fill your fury in my water bottle.
let this madness end, let the dry well inside you get dryer.
there is nobody more damned than me,
i ascribed it to myself,
i deleted the modes of my roots
i closed the road stretching inside me,
i turned my back on stars
i diced with my lower self,
i placed a bet on a lie.
i set on fire the load of the world on my shoulder
i cleaned my face with mire
i plundered my childhood, everyone oblivious
i took out my life from the mirrors.
i align quietly in the corner the repetitions that intercept my way
the wound inside me making me continuously drunken as if it is like a magical luminary
the burning is not a fire but my abandoned dreams, the curtain in my heart
i am not in this poem, i have pains i cannot discard
the sin of loneliness can only dream for me of a ceaseless torrent
Translated by Mesut Senol