Dedicated to Hülya Yayla
Tosun
Nyx with her
blinding cover folds my soul,
Stars seem false
and moon my only guide.
Yet neath her
light, I yet do as many foul
As I would do if
I with evil would abide.
As Ahmed says
through his ageless page,
Sun takes hope
and brings you your truth
And moon's lies
on earth will never age,
For man nor
himself nor her shows any ruth.
My mooned eyes
see not by sun's light.
My mind sees
indeed not my two eyes,
To finish left
shapes, left in light's fight,
Amidst all the
unshaped for its shape it dies.
My nomad soul to
my epitaph fast rides,
Gets off his
unicorn and within his tears,
With moonlit
pen on my stone he writes.
And these stand
there when he it cleans:
There lies
not a mind but there lies Çetin
Death
embraced him with shapeless fear
Let a dream
come and break this routine
Minds like
his mind shall ever lives bear.
Nomad soul
finishes my unfinished mind,
And gets on his
unicorn to ride waywardly.
Even then comes
a sight of unknown kind,
Mouths a
word, says "done well uncowardly,"
I am Death,
the ever wandering sickle
Surprised I
am you are but only a soul.
I have seen
many a soul all wholly fickle
None ever
strived to stand against the dole.
Now let my
ear, hear what you will say.
Speak, I am
to give, this time not to get.
Now tell me
how, I can this fault repay,
But be fast,
tell; where shall I him re-set?
In all the sky,
all the stars begin to shake
Moon tears
clouds, for herself to hide.
Now naughty
trees, a still form do take,
No growing still
has confidence inside.
Oh my Death,
it was but one moment!
He felt all,
the joy, anxiety and love.
Bring him
back to the eyes of innocent
He would not
want anything above.
"Her eyes"
he said, "was as hot as the sun,
I could not
look or looked but in fear.
When within
her eyes, a fest in me begun,
Feelings
went off, my mind did blear.
There was
more life in her hand's palm,
Than any
land to any flower can give.
If I die
before, let her word be psalm,
Let this
psalm be my new life to live.
I can not go
and her here left leave,
Who would
give me my thought thence?
If I go now,
time her sight will reave
Death's
entertainment will commence.
My soul I
will paint you her fair sight,
With my
black ink, so rich in colour.
Then her two
images will be in night
Things nor
death nor time can decolour."
Bring him
death, let him eternally look
Upon the
beauteous face of Mrs. Hülya!
Let him
write, and write a great book,
Then
dedicate to her, here or in Anglia.
Çetin
Sert