this ring

this ring I wear
for fifty odd years
is all that’s left
of a man
apart from a tie pin
an ashtray
some pictures
to chronicle
he passed by
this way
and imprinted
my life

your name

popped up
in conversation
like Marley
it foretold of ghost
of Christmases
though these
firmly rooted
in the past
and it’s not
even December
regret fills
my heart
this morning
as I turn
the page
on my desk
another month
soon another year
slips away
from what was
could have been
to what is

The Station by Melih Cevdet Anday

An unknown evening hour
Of a station with an age-old platform, sadness
By my side, I knew no direction.

I had left you up there, in the sky
Dark were the trees and the road
Dark were your white clothes.

The night, that treasure, foreign stone
Your window was above the trees
No voice or iron can save me now.

Here I am in the hours
The hours are nowhere, no
Not in this direction, not in that.

I had left you up there, in the sky.

translated by Şehnaz Tahir-Gürçağlar