Let the rainy season begin
What does it matter if I have been shattered a thousand times by your absence,
If memories have grown resentful, or songs have brought only sorrow for years on end?
What does it matter if, until today, I have wept with my clumsy hands,
And if I echoed the same whistle after the roads in your wake?
What of it, if my breath smells of cigarettes?
If countless pleas turn into prayers upon my lips,
And if I no longer tremble at the coming of the night?
What does it matter if your dress rustles like the leaves of autumn
Whether or not you are the last girl
Whose lips have touched my own.
February 17, 1965
English Translation by Mesut Şenol