Let me be an old man in Anatolia
Resting on a white plastic chair
Saintly in a starched white shirt
Drinking tea from a glass that has
Curves like a woman, watching
Children and traffic, nodding at
Shadows, a friend of dust and
Thin cats, weightless as a moth on
Running water, silent with the
Grace of years, half asleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
though half asleep, a person could analyze like this, if full awake..enjoyable poem..