Suddenly, curtains closed one after another...
Kandilli1, Göksu2, Kanlıca3, İstinye4, where are they?
In the midst of pure emerald, flowing triumphantly,
Where is the turquoise river? Why is it hidden today?
I wouldn't dare compare you with no other place ;
But at the end of September, lakes in Switzerland are like this.
The fog of the poet who stifles an era with its curse
Is the most poisonous of conscience and soul's sorrows.
It reflected once more like a torment to my dream;
-Cover yourself! Sleep forever! Oh city! -That curse...
No, this state cannot last long, you are near;
You are behind this fog that still hasn'yet dispersed.
Emerge, glittering from the white darkness,
In your clarity, know not what's a week, month, and year.
May your sorrow and relief be ours in winter, summer...
May fate never separate us from you my dear.
Yahya Kemal Beyatlı
Translated by: Mehmet Barın Erturan
Click for the original text
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