At Noon, Dedicated To My Secret Love Poem by Okan Emanet

The selves living in the palaces witness a truth
Life, as it is called, is a drama including every oath
Starting from youngster to adulthood, eating your youth
The tolls get to ring, bringing forward all the words to mouth
Please, God Let the clicking time come to end
May God block the universal rhyme
Nine, ten and eleven are coming out at noon
Having seated to the chair of loneliness, a man comes to think
“All the world’s living bodies are trying to stick into my heart,
Many drops of tears have dropped over since getting apart
There have been loads of scars in my soul,
This breath of my own cannot stand as a whole”

At noon, trivial is the rank of being king,
At noon, nobody can smile and sing,
At noon, eyes can only see the slope to cling,
At noon, try as much as you can, but you can’t fling,
At noon, the veins throughout my body long for you,
At noon, with the absence of your eyes finishes the hue
At noon, the expression of death is my own name...