it was like spring time, laughing with you
and to touch the chimes of your face
a naked pomegranate, dispelled and tranquil
intimations of the forenoon, your face
at the meeting place of the autumn
in the closing seas of your face
the birds flew like poisoned arrows
the summer blindfolded at the bottom of a wall
what is left of your face, a rusty shadow
the receding forest, the flower in mourning
pieces of broken glass, the colours of spring
how do birds get accustomed to losing a sky?
ah, I'm late in learning about the rain
a naked pomegranate, defeated and somber
where the rotting autumn, your old face
vanished with the tolling of the bells
~Ayten Mutlu~ (Translated by Emine Dilek)
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