I mean the rain you drop in my voice
like a cloth cut by scissors, bridling its mare
and my hand sniggering in lust
though a smell of a banana
in an old part of this city, all alone
in hotel rooms and on brass beds
dirtiest hours of my face
a sartor with winter night face
Koray Feyiz
Translated from Turkish by Koray Feyiz
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem