Photo: Duncan1890

A childhood scene – over the wall
short legs dangling together
The wall belonged to the empty lot, not to the house
The streets were free lands.

When playmates scattered away, you started to look at the world
from the balcony railings
Now all lie-truths are yours
You are stuck with just your imagination
Stopping by the purgatory where you flew without wings
Not a soul hears
You ran away because they didn’t hear your soul anyway.

The news bulletins lie
None is more real than your tale
Balconies bay windows dingy alleys know it
It is a game inherited from the elders
told by those watching from a corner people dance
All their eyes are wells of unwritten stories
Where there are no crazies to cast a stone
Brave enough to listen
Shut full to the brim.

Truth is a buzz sometimes
Vibrating remnant on the wire
An untold story is a resisting past
History is not past as long as the beginning is not dreamt of
When someone comes down from high high up
to swing legs with you again
this time knowingly
the terrace wall will tremble with excitement
This was the forty first room
Nobody’s key had fit till then
Look how the lock opened so easily.

Now there is a suitor for the horizon, partner to the dream
Companion to distant places, confidant to close ones
You waited and waited and waited
long enough to forget what you waited for

Now you can be the star in the skydome.


Translation by Sevda Akyüz