Dünyanın ucunda

 

 

 

 

I’m not this awkward, helpless woman

ready to run away

who angrily measures every step made in vain

 

My hands are not troubled by resignation

I am not the one who looks calmly into more and more turbid waters

I am not this woman who caresses her fate like a blind animal

I’m the one raising my fist to the sky

I am the one who is able to stir up the seas

 

Heaven is not a place in space but a strip of time.

It’s a rite of passage

Dünyanın ucunda

He loved what was mortal in me

 

As a child, I imagined almost human creatures

Their skin was as white and fluffy as the clouds

but it suddenly turned into one full of shadows and streaks

Sometimes the opposite happened:

the disheveled skins peeled off, giving way to immaculate others

 

Anyway, this hardworking lady

that keeps cleaning stuff, sorting papers

it’s not me

I’m lazy, distracted, full of cravings

 

Now that there’s nothing left of what I’ve been,

When our feet and sights have been chipped

When our senses are faded

We have given up everything that kept us apart

 

“One day we will become fishermen

We will escape, we will reach the edge of the world

We will live in caves again”

Dünyanın ucunda

 

He walked to work when other children were getting ready for school

He hasn’t kept anything from that time. Not even a keychain.

He threw away even the memories.

He moved. He kept moving.

He went away.

He kept going.

He always knew in which direction the sea was.

 

It’s good like this

There are no traces left

There is no dust over the virtual remnants of life

The photos turn yellow, with spots that look like dry blood paintings

It’s good

 

There will be nothing left of us at the end of the day

Only small items, statuettes, lipsticks, a train ticket, a crumpled t-shirt

that sort of rubble that could belong to any others

 

There comes a time when things remain frozen

Nothing changes

We stubbornly say No, thank you, I’m tired

I’m not curious

We can travel in time on the streets of childhood

It’s enough

We can feel in the nostrils the scent of ripe chestnuts and figs

 

The more the waves dig our foreheads

and wash our chests of soot

the brighter we shine

young bodies

spotless

in the rain of that summer day of our first date

 

How beautiful is his curly, disheveled hair

And how invincible his smile, digging his way to my fever!

 

There is no need for temples, he told me

We can pray in the markets, in the trenches, in the bedrooms

He used to do it, secretly, in public gardens

in night trains

 

Dünyanın ucunda

He believed in the miracle hidden in the woman’s flesh

He loved what was mortal in me

 

As we throw pebbles from the edge of the abyss

The echoes make come back to us

the noise of the past years streets

mixing with the voice of the old lollipop salesman

and with the screams of the seagulls

who always knows where the sea is

 

And our more and more distant childhoods

Become one