Çeviri Şiirler

Mon Coeur est  pour la pluie

Je vous ai vu monsieur 

c'était la fin du jour dangereuse

l'eau suintait des robinets fermés

The seas are here, the boats of the sea

The captains of the ships, the children

Those hungry bollards swallowing the wind

Devouring the wind madly

To make time understandable

I am hanging my watch on the ropes where clothes are being dried

Each departure of yours is but a drop that falls on the roads

This is not something that shrinks when washed

Neither a ball of wool that becomes entangled while being disentangled

We are on the verge of the night that is approaching, whirling and whirling

At the edge of the bridge composed of the murmurs uttered when we are delirius

How is it possible to narrate why all these injuries occur, without arms and weapons

How is it possible to explain this depthlessness causing the flower to fade

Life is a ball of silk thread, multicoloured

Life is all the sad poppies standing still under the rainbow

The mystery in how a man falls in love with a woman silently

Three sisters and brothers were we, just before the windows were broken

Brought up were we, in the houses with gardens without trees

An ill-omened winter was it. Maybe in December

In the dead of winter, if ever it disturbed mother

Never had we ever seen such a downpour piercing in the houses

A crimson love, a crimson sunset, growing up were we, slowly and silently

An overpouring despair was it, in fact, the make-believe prayer and the night