That was a different time
Of all times,
Inside the tiniest earrings
Of white, round beads
She left by my bedside
Were light beams and shadows.
Perhaps Güler’s hours of love
Remained in those worlds. . .
Or maybe they flew away
Descending onto a vacant shore
With suns receding from rooms.
Day breaks, night descends.
Those kisses and caresses
Are now bright white pebbles
Found by children.
translated by Talat S. Halman
Monday I expect a letter from you
Tuesday I pour my distress onto paper
Wednesday your voice resounds in the void
I shall sigh my heart out on Thursday
Friday I am in the theater of memories
Saturday is pregnant to so much
How about Sunday my love
Just wait for Sunday
translated by Talat S. Halman
The perfume of the red water lilies
Dies away. The Autumn air
Penetrates the pearl jade curtain.
Torches gleam on the orchid boats.
Who has sent me a message
Of love from the clouds? It is
The time when the wild swans
Return. The moonlight floods the women’s
Quarters. Flowers, after their
Nature, whirl away in the wind.
Split water, after its nature
Flows together at the lowest point.
Those who are of one being
Can never stop thinking of each other.
But, ah, my dear, we are apart,
And I have become used to sorrow.
This love–nothing can ever
Make it fade or disappear.
For a moment it was on my eyebrows,
Now it is heavy in my heart.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
I wake in sad reverie; the moon is slating over the mountain;
A single lamp shines on the wall from behind the window curtain;
The beautiful one lives in a high apartment in the small tower.
I think of her lovely jade-like face–how shall I compare it?
A branch of cold plum blossoms in the spring snow.
The fragrant mist of her body is like the gathered clouds of dawn.
translated by Lois M. Fusek
why you ask
and how do I say
what is new
is familiar
a memory
being created
anew
not deja vu
because I haven’t been
here before
but could have been
would have been
should have been
but turned a different corner
somewhere
long ago
and now
have stumbled upon
this road
quite by accident
and found you
patiently waiting
to ask why
I took so long
Everything happened all of a sudden.
All of a sudden daylight beat down on the earth;
There was the sky all of a sudden;
All of a sudden steam began to rise from the soil.
There were tendrils all of a sudden, buds all of a sudden.
And there were fruits all of a sudden.
All of a sudden,
All of a sudden,
Girls all of a sudden, boys all of a sudden.
Roads, moors, cats, people. . .
And there was love all of a sudden,
Happiness all of a sudden.
translated by Anil Mericelli
I’ve oft been told by learned friars,
That wishing and the crime are one,
And Heaven punishes desires
As much as if the deed were done.
If wishing damns us, you and I
Are damned to all our heart’s content;
Come, then, at least we may enjoy
Some pleasure for our punishment!
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
I may have posted this before but feel the urge to post it once again.
Now and then like the winds I blow,
Now and then like the roads I go,
Now and then like the floods I flow,
Come, see what love has done to me.
Hold my hand, lift me from this place
Or take me into your embrace. . .
You made me weep, make me rejoice,
Come, see what love has done to me.
translated by Talat S. Halman
Am I your only love–in the whole world–now?
Am I really the only object of your love?
If passions rage in your mind,
If love springs eternal in your heart–
Is it all meant for me? Tell me again.
Tell me right now, am I the one who inspires
All your dark thoughts, all your sadness?
Share with me what you feel, what you think.
Come, my love, pour into my heart
Whatever gives you so much pain.
Tell me again.
translated by Talat S. Halman
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Dennis Mantin is a Toronto-based writer, artist, and filmmaker.
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
Erm, what am I doing with my life?
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 