Kültür Sanat Edebiyat Şiir

?si=Gla5CAH_evrj0wcD

For you...

Now I sew you with black thread,
into the felt of my shoe that soaks in the rain,
so that its color will correspond to a blackened sear...,
ahhh;

On the pavement stones I walk,
You (love) are as fragile as the crack in a frozen puddle...
Even if you melt; even if you turn to water, what difference does it make?
You are an iceberg with more invisible sides than visible ones...
While exhaust fumes mingle with the roar of the city's artificial waterfalls,
and the passengers of long distances standing on buses shake at every bump and pothole,
and the pavement stones become a trap for the noise-weary crowds after every rain,
on the concrete-covered boulevard;
It nestles in the branches of trees torn from nature,
and lives in its own inner nook desolate love…

Your pen smells of a veiled and intimate language,
You are as cool-blooded as philosophy,
as orderly as law,
and as life as theology,
you love…

Like the rough wind that brings spring rains,
with your blunt and rather thick temperament,
it is your destiny to stumble upon innocent verses,
verses that are shameless of love,
and your desire for love is obvious,
concealment is too much for you,
your homeland is where the scent of your beloved permeates,
you love…,

~~

~~~~

oyuncak

çiziyorum şimdi zihnimin anlayış bekleyen
açıklamalarının altını ve tutmayan hesapların
dört işlemini yapmayı deniyorken,
ikaz lambaları yanıyor her adım başı
ve oyuncakları hayatlarımızın,
alt üst alt üst alt üst etmede hayatlarımızı,
ah