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Nov 2009 · 1.8k
Adoring
Ahmet Yalcinkaya Nov 2009
if you name your hair a rope
whip my soul with it
tighten my neck
i am willing

if you take your fingernail as a knife
strive in my breast
cut my day dreams
split my memories
take my yesterday from me, take my tomorrow
i am willing

if you name your eyelash an arrow
and ***** my dreams,
***** my nights
i am willing

if your eyes like sun
sear my mind, scatter my voice
i do not ask what for, how or why
take me to bazaar, sale
i am willing

because the flame of your eyes
is a pair of wings, is peace
it makes my life bird fly
to heaven
to the seven stairs of sky

Translated by: A. Edip Yazar
Nov 2009 · 764
Love
Ahmet Yalcinkaya Nov 2009
I come every morning to the beginning of this street
thinking that you will pass from here
I wait, wait, and wait…

when you are seen from far
my heart does not fit to its cage,
tulips bloom in me…
an inexplicable warmth embraces my body
I burn from top to toe…
I do not see who is on the street, I cannot see.
I do not see the trees
and when you approach
freezes my blood, freezes my mind
freezes my soul…
everything freezes in me

you just pass by,
it does not change anything whether I exist or not
it does not matter for you, for the world
or for the sun

when I return home
I carry a dream with me…
there is still a reason again
to overcome the dark and cold night
still a reason for me,
another reason to reach tomorrow morning,
I will run again,

I will run again the following morning
to the beginning of the same street


Translated by: Richard Mildstone
Nov 2009 · 814
The Story
Ahmet Yalcinkaya Nov 2009
time was yellow at that day
like a leaf
and the woman gave birth to betrayal
pure of mother-of-pearl so shown
seven harvesting of grapes have been passed
with cries and shrieks
while seven periods had been overthrown

time was walking lame at that day
although it is said to be ****** red
the snake was born at once
waters have withdrawn slowly / lacking fell down
that day
northwestwinds have choked a flame
gracefully in an ambush
and the mill stopped, got down
stopped as if waiting for bunches
of fame,
for dawn
and stopped the mill
which did not sleep for seven days

Translated by: Richard Mildstone

— The End —