Nazim Hikmet (1902-1963 / Turkey)

I think of you
and I feel the scent of my mother
my mother, the most beautiful of all.

You are on the carousel of the festival inside me
you hover around, your skirt and your hair flying
Mere seconds between finding your beautiful face and losing it.

What is the reason,
why do I remember you like a wound on my heart
what is the reason that I hear your voice when you are so far
and I can't help getting up with excitement?

I kneel down and look at your hands
I want to touch your hands
but I can't
you are behind a glass.
Sweetheart, I am a bewildered spectator of the drama
that I am playing in my twilight.