In the East
Mountains are the measure of sadness
the moon reflects on my forehead
in the nomad tents the women sing laments
as they untie the darknessThe houses are full of wilderness
instead of wind sorrow blows
like a train disturbing the mountains
in the crowded evening death is long and slowMountains are the symbol of my rebellion
poetry is the eternal sea of the heart
and so are your eyes
my loveA fire granary is your breast
as you caress the sun
I can tell it’s you
by your handsIf only you knew
to what grief
this love
has sentenced meTonight a very thin moon
grows in your eyes
the mountains echo in your head
the morning is met with prayers
Translated by Mevlut Ceylan
Page(s) 77-78
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