drawing on Murat Gök’s works titled “boundary, I can move,
you have seen this spectacle time and again”
they say that where truth evaporates
incomprehensible repetitions
salvation and disaster, a hierarchy of states
borders are a space of simulacra
and the web woven by memory
grasps the construct by its fences
for when reality and fear, barbed wire,
measurement, and form, are subdivided too much,
they turn into farce
they say that when the tonal lineage at the borders breaks
clichéd narrative, the elixir effect
slain rabbits play games
inside the hat
and the adjacent image sways
making a hammock out of children’s laughter
for all borders are as mad as the desert
sacred texts call out: “iqra! iqra! iqra!”
they say that negative connotations, materialist theology,
and mystical shivers fall from the eyes
of claws and windows
in a world built to immobilize
unsolved captivities shift their place
fences where an amusement park rings in every wire
toys and swings, the capacity to transcend reason
for to become a “hayal-et”, a phantom, one must be dead
at the border, my brother might turn into my killer
they say that everything whose boundary is drawn
becomes a harem
and this doubt devours you
English Translation by Mesut Şenol