there’s Baileys
sweetening my coffee
there’s the morning
caressing the hills
there’s the cat
stretched out on the table
there’s life
slowly coming
my way
cat
waiting for dawn
the wind moans
outside all night long
the cat clings
wrapped around my arm
my eyes stare
where the ceiling should be
waiting for dawn
a world of changes
the cat
wraps himself
around my arm
his only constant
in a world
of changes
the unknown
future
just outside
the door
Cat Was Its Name by Özdemir Asaf
Nobody
gave it a name
They called–it was deaf, it did not hear
The murmuring of a cat
Is both its thinking
And
Its hearing
I’m writing
This
Which is
My murmuring
One who hears
Wouldn’t write this
Wake up
It was a cat who wrote this.
translated by Ayşe Banu Karadağ