Give Me Your Hand, My Lady, Dedicated To My Secret Love Poem by Okan Emanet

I have forgotten the meaning under any sense that was once rhythmic
Nothing touches my soul in the vein of life and nothing is any longer hectic
Over a thin line of survival lies no gain,
Which brings neither breath nor pain
I have really lost the memory of a man living in humanity so soul-metric
There is a melody keeping its place in between my lips
Just on the way to express your name, everything slips
I am sometimes asked of my writings in the book of my life
Where the sentences, the words and the lines smell of my wife
Tomorrow is nothing but a dream to come together under a star
Which will teach how to endure the brutal distances being so far
Turning to the beginning of a story including who and how we are
The winds of love, the breeze of heart-shake, the scent of moon
Something gets stuck in my throat in your absence, praying every noon
The growth of tension, the vibration of aches will appear that soon
From now on will be written such a lonesome story
Find me among the bushes of deserted bird corpses
Try and figure out a leaf kept away from even a dropp of water
Make an attempt to reveal a handkerchief crying endlessly
Search for the ash of a paper screaming your name
Comparisons and contrasts cannot fulfil a wedding together
My arms, my hands, my soul and heart have come to surrender