Letter from a Dead Friend by Melih Cevdet Anday

I live as in the olden days,
Wandering around, thinking,
Except I get on ferries and trains without a ticket.
I shop without bargaining.
I stay home at night, all comfortable.
(I only open the windows if I’m bored):
Ah . . . to scratch my head, to pick flowers . . .
Every now and then I wish I could shake someone’s hand.

translated by Sidney Wade & Efe Murad

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