My Hands Go to My heart

I wish I had taken trips,
I say to myself, to unknown places,
that people were less strange to each other
than our own feelings.

I return to this familiar point
and feel, along the bank of the river,
wind sweeping away
all the footprints in the sand.

Whenever I read a poem
about separation,
my hands go to my heart.

By Ali F. Bilir
Translated by M. Ali Sulutas
Edited in English by Susan Bright

The Sky Wept All Day Long

The day the baby is born
it closes its eyes
to hear its own voice.

Then loneliness sets in,
the cliff, the sea builds up
over its inner world
and swallows its loved ones.

When fire touches its small fingers
and the mother kisses burnt fingers,
the child recognizes love.

By Ali F. Bilir
Translated by M. Ali Sulutas
Edited in English by Susan Bright

A Child Recognizes Love

The day the baby is born
it closes its eyes
to hear its own voice.

Then loneliness sets in,
the cliff, the sea builds up
over its inner world
and swallows its loved ones.

When fire touches its small fingers
and the mother kisses burnt fingers,
the child recognizes love.

By Ali F. Bilir
Translated by M. Ali Sulutas
Edited in English by Susan Bright

Lake Ella

“They scale death with separation…”~~~ Folk song

Lake Ella,
tiny lake
how familiar she seems —
yet completely separate

Lake Ella,
mysterious and
night tired
like a martin
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
onto the water

Water lily,
children running about,
woman with a puppy —

the day,
too busy
for me.

Lake Ella,
Why is separation
always more painful than
death?

~~~Tallahassee, August, 2008; Translated by Susan Bright