A body filled with the stars of your appearance
Has fallen on the soil, bleeding at people's glance
Something is getting brown on his face; the crowds of ants
One day, this corpse is going to feed the lovely plants
The leaves of the flowers hold the tears of my funeral
Whereas the beloved gather around me during the burial
Nobody can touch me, even the hands of my Poetiwife
Nobody can see me, even the eyes of my life
Nobody can...
"I have had enough of you",
"My absence will be your penalty",
"Only because of you do I not exist beside you"
The above-mentioned statements will be on my gravestone
The story of a man who spent his life all alone
Will never again touch the buttons on the phone
Nobody will listen to me, the ever-weeping tone
Even the ears of my Chimera will not reach my sun,
Everybody will merely talk about me on their own run
Beget a son, Lo! The mothers
A son who will do much more than this poor
A son that will realize what is lying under this core
A son that manages to find out the right sentence
A son that will be away from my own sense
Beget a daughter Lo! The mothers
A daughter that carries the eyes of my unborn child
A daughter who dances with grace and becomes mild
A daughter that teaches how to stop being wild
A daughter that will resemble my Poetiwife
Written by the master of loneliness,
Okan Emanet
Bu şiir yazdığım son şiir olacak. Artık şiirle ilgilenmiyorum...
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