The cursed Paris, my beloved
the one lying in tranquility
calling for Anatolian binge
whenever I picture you sleeping
alas, I helplessly bud passion
leave me not
let Paris laugh, let the world laugh.
Here comes the sultry air
post-rain era trembles your knees
the quake-shattered dirge ensnares your sky
sudden coming of the many-a-night-long
awaited unexpected guest
a silly stare in your continent
there-in a poor memory
dives in at ease, settles
in the magma of your essence.
The fags of this district
seeking a star at night
gazing at the sky for what is past
yet, faces deluging to mould
the fags of this district are scared
lingering never looking at your face
hiding behind their tie
all alone at night, they lie
the fags here are fans
a poster reminding adolescence
hearts beating for their neighbs
crack of dawn, gushing enroute their only palms.
These poem were translated into English by poet himself from the original Turkish versions.