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Murat Nemet-Nejat

They sheared the cloud, the cloud now is clear;

They sheared the cloud, the cloud now is clear;
My blood spills on the ground, the cloud is modest,
Blushes
And disappears.
 
A man's face shadows
In my hand;
I see it and squeeze it,
Drinking stars
From the urinal.
 
In a testy mood
The same mood that
Tore me apart.
 
His face is almost gone,
My desolation is pure,
The water is flat,
My pain is on.
 

I can't bring myself

I can't bring myself;
When I can not resist her quinces and pomegranates
I bend my head
And walk away.
Nothing that wolves or birds can know.
 
Only I know
What bitch of a beauty I loved
She has a mouth but no tongue -
The Fortress of Diyarbakir...
 
II.
 
The fertile plants bloom,
Blood red.
It snows on the other side.
The Black Mountain rocks
The Zozan rocks...
Look, my whiskers are frozen,
And I am cold
And the ice has grown longer and longer
And I'm thinking of you, as though you were spring,
Of you, as though you were Diyarbakir,
To what, to what isn't it superior
The taste of thinking of you...
 

My black mulberry, my forked darky, my Gypsy,

My black mulberry, my forked darky, my Gypsy,
My grain of pomegranate, my grain of light, my only one;
I am a tree, my limbs, a proch hanging with grapes,
I am a hive, you are my honey, my bitter honey,
My sin, my ague.
 
Tongue of the coral, theeth of the coral, thighs of oyster,
I gave you a life, my wife,
My black mulberry, my forked darky, my Gypsy,
What more will you be to me, my odd one, queer one,
My smiling quince, my weeping pomegranate,
My baby, my stallion, my wife.
 

Houri's Rose

I'm crying exactly in the middle of the rose
As I die every evening in the middle of the street
Not knowing my front from my back in the dark
As I sense, I sense the receding of your eyes
Which prop me up.
 
I hold back your hands, kiss them in the night
Your hands are white, again white, again white,
I'm afraid that your hands are so white
That a caboose in the station somewhat
I'm late at the station sometime
 
Palming the rose I'm rubbing it on my face
Which Houri dropped in the street,
My arms are broken, my wings,
In a red, catastrophic music,
At the other end of the reed
A brand new, gold toothed shyster.
 

When quinces become pomegranates

When quinces become pomegranates
You become mine,
When above our troubled heads
The world is translucent.
 

Drizzle

The stars were on the sidewalk
As if at the Prophet's coming
Because it had drizzled the night before
Dizzy like a cloud, I left her house
Skipping, skipping on the stars
Pleased as punch in the moonlight
Playing hopscotch
As at the Prophet's coming
Because it had drizzled the night before.
 

Bury my wounded song

Under a penny laid on your eyes;
Listen, I won't be long!
 
You did me wrong,
But a lover can't complain when love dies;
Bury my wounded song;
 
I will quietly bite my tongue,
Stop reliving ancient, poisoned tales;
Listen, I won't be long!
 
Swearing to be strong
I sever forever our ties
Though I feel like a worm;
Bury my wounded song.
 
Just hush along,
May you one day
In the earth try your size ;
Wait, wait a minute, I won't be long!
 
If one day another worm
Plays music on your thighs...
Plays music on your thighs...
 
But I said, I said, I won't be long,
Bury my wounded song.
 

Pir Sultan

The rough man entered the lover's garden
It is woods now, my beautiful one, it is woods,
Gathering roses, he has broken their stems
They are dry now, my beautiful one, they are dry
 
In this square our hide is strechted
Blessed be, we saw out friend off to God
One day, too, black dust must cover us
We will rot, my beautiful one, we will rot
 
He himself reads and He also writes
God's holy hand has closed her crescent eyebrows
Your peers are wandering in Paradise
They are free, my beautiful one, they are free
 
Whatever religion you are, I'll worship it too
I will be torn off with you even the Day of Judgement
Bend for once, let me kiss you on your white neck
Just stay there for a moment, my beautiful one, just stay there
 
I'm Pir Sultan Abdal, I start from the root
I eat the kernel and throw out the evil weed
And weave from a thousand flowers to one hive honey
I am an honest bee, my beautiful one, an honest bee.
 

A watermelon broke

A watermelon broke,
The body nudging it
(Because
Rounder?)
From under the pile.
Like a panicked crab
The watermelon slipped
Round the edge
Of the cart,
Which was infinitesimally
Tilted.
His eyes
Opened in shock.
 

Paradise

Brooks of heaven flow,
Go chanting the divine name;
Birds, alive, curve, draw
Holy circles in a game.
 
Gentle trees glow in gold,
Their young roots disdain the earth,
Their hungry roots searching upwards
Wash down their thirst with Allah's name.
 
Older branches bend; ripe
With weight they understand,
Gently observe the red rose pray
Mad with perfumed flame.
 
New-born souls bite the tight-skinned fruit,
Smiles shine on them in gold;
They sip the outpoured juice, taste life's end,
Receive the clothes of Paradise.
 
Their fair faces round as the moon,
Their soft words fresh as the morn,
Wise Houri girls play among souls,
Ponder with them on Allah's name.
 
The soul which burns for the maker,
Its tears will flow like a river,
Its bones refine to a reed,
Chant His name with restrained greed.
 

Sivut