Bottom Up, We The Dead Şiiri - Kasım Kob ...

Zerya, we are going through sick days!
Anger penetrating into our palms,
Wounds open, deep in our chest.
From one thought to another,
There is no way in this darkness, our way to go.

The front of the street is blocked, which tomorrow?
Which bourgeois is killed in front of the monuments?
Hangs in the sky, maybe raindrops.
It is sold in sacks of lime, with a red prescription.

In the midst of turmoil, uncontrollable,
Wildflowers vomit white buds.
These intrigued days become a movie script for some.
A note to be applauded, in someone's composition.

Actually a rosewood scar, from my tongue that came out of my heart,
On a newspaper sheet, maybe years later, smelling sawdust,
Our longings are engraved into a puzzle,
We'll live and go
From right to left, you are alive,
Bottom up, we the dead.