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İlhan Geçer tıklayın (1917-2004) End of September A pale September recedes With weary steps Away from routed memories
Sparrows, their wings skittish, Break loose from shrinking joys As the face of waves darkens
Tha warmth melts in our blood Giant-mouthed clouds vie to snatch The gren encounters In the gardens birds hold no flowers in their beaks Snows of Mt. Torment lie on caved-in shoulders
Each gossamer wing founders Lost long ago unable to fly to blush-pink horizons On the tips of our eyelashes a speckled bird Twitters a dark tune It refuses tos mile at our suns Fate that buffoon
The scissors of night cut up despair Autumn’s cupsa re filled with mawkish dregs The tired doughboys of joy have piled their rifles Our hands cling to the tattered ropes (Translated by Nermin Menemencioğlu, 101Poems by 101Poets An Anthology of Turkish Poetry)
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