She's from Istanbul.
She a goddess of a god.
She holds her little god
when the rain runs.
From the cloud and fall.
I can feel her sing songs
for that little boy.
Songs about snows falling on snows,
about a rose standing in a mirror,
about pillows sipping sorrows,
thunder and thundery cloud knows.
She's the girl of Istanbul.
Let her sing and I will follow.
Or I would learn and join her tomorrow.
Let her tell us what the rain knows.
So we would know where it goes.
Whether it falls like the snow
or sings like a dove.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem