I think of you and I feel the scent of my mother my mother, the most beautiful of all
You are on the carousel of the festival inside me you hover around, your skirt and your hair flying Mere seconds between finding your beautiful face and los...
I stand in the advancing light,my hands hungry, the world beautiful
My eyes can't get enough of the trees—they're so hopeful, so green
A sunny road runs through the mulberries,
I'm at the window of the prison infirmary
to the memory of my friend SI-YA-U, whose head was cut off in ShanghaiA
Renowned Leonardo'sworld-famous"La Gioconda"has disappeared
And in the spacevacated by the fugitivea copy has been placed
The poet inscribingthe prese...
I love you like dipping bread into salt and eating Like waking up at night with high fever and drinking water, with the tap in my mouth Like unwrapping the heavy box from the postman with no clue what it is fluttering, happy, doubtful I love you l...
Comrades, if I don't live to see the day— I mean,if I die before freedom comes —take me awayand bury me in a village cemetery in Anatolia
The worker Osman whom Hassan Bey ordered shotcan lie on one side of me, and on the other sidethe martyr ...
To overcome lies in the heart, in the streets, in the books from the lullabies of the mothers to the news report that the speaker reads, understanding, my love, what a great joy it is, to understand what is gone and what is on the way
I want to die before you
I want to die before you
Do you think that who passes later will find who's gone before
I don't think so
The knight of immortal youthat the age of fifty found his mind in his heartand on July morning went out to capturethe right, the beautiful, the just
Facing him a world of silly and arrogant giants,he on his sad but brave Rocinante
I know...
I come and stand at every door But none can hear my silent tread I knock and yet remain unseen For I am dead for I am dead I'm only seven though I died In Hiroshima long ago I'm seven now as I was then When children die they do not grow My hair wa...
Awake
Where are you
At home
Still unaccustomed- awake or sleeping- to being in your own home
Fable of
Nazim Hikmet We are by the watersidethe plane tree and I
Our reflections are thrown on the waterthe plane tree’s and mine
The sparkle of the water hits usthe plane tree and me
The hair falling on your forehead suddenly lifted
Suddenly something stirred on the ground
The trees are whispering in the dark
Your bare arms will be cold