We died, with expectations from death.
The spell was broken in a vast void.
How could you not remember that song,
Cluster of branches, feather, patch of sky.
We were used to being alive.
No longer any news from that world;
No longer anyone looking for us, asking after us.
Our night so dark,
No difference, window or not;
No trace of our reflection on the flowing water.
Cahit Sıtkı Tarancı. Ölümden Sonra. Translated from the Turkish.