3 Aralık 2009 Perşembe
Unfounded, foggy chateaux street,
There all my hands are unclothed, floundering,
Hidden and chapfallen at the bodily mountains.
Like a flood streaming around,
Sweet basils, dancing on breasts,
In every smell, blows the fragrant mind.
For centuries stringed up by the kings,
Aesthetic mind and the woman's luminescent belly...
A weak ivy droops dead.
Whispering breaths burn to never.
By the green hills, boiling bottle wanders around,
As I color the tavern path for myself.
From your feet shedded the sky,
As ages lie down to where we'd laid;
Judas kiss, spinous nose pin, intra muros...
From this last window that passed by,
My palms rise to moon,
But engage forever inside.
In my pockets starts bleed dim,
A violet frazzle at dawn,
Swinging opiums in my eyes...
Under the sleeping sands, rises up;
A Persian pot of my terrene dreams,
Shatters into a rough epoch;
The solitude pulls you out.
Through all the lands of the tears,
This off scene play,
Has always been bushfully applaud...
Yazan/Written by: Ozan Durmaz
Çeviri/Translation: Ozan Durmaz
Orjinal Metin/Original Text: "Utanarak Pers" by Ozan Durmaz
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