Colors have withdrawn into a pitch-black palace,
Everything is equal now: it is night.
Minarets and wells are now alined,
Everything is either giant or a mite.
A rush of water suddenly invades memory,
This might be a torture that’s begun or perhaps is ending.
Heads are now like mirrors reflecting a mystery,
This, an inextricable puzzle in the dim light.
Fear is a scent mixed with this air,
And silence is a thought growing like an avalanche.
Now every movement is gentle, quiet.
An empty hand seems to hold a bag in darkness,
Laughing and crying heads have fallen into the same bag,
Night is not a cause but perhaps a result.
Translated by: Mehmet Barın Erturan
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