The Gone

A night like all nights,
The firmest hands you know on your hair,
In your eyes the deepest of adventures..
Telling you about what is gone, what has remained.
A night like all nights,
Of darkness and light.

They have their own life, the surroundings.
On the window panes shine lights,
On the carpet, lie the furniture’s shadows.
One within the other now, streets, houses, rooms.
Vision blocked by walls, sound by doors.
They have their own life, the surroundings.

And within you the day’s multitude of thoughts,
Play with your memory, heart and hopes.
With you everything contemplates.
Suddenly, towards you, from you, a wind blows.
What has itself ended , within you multiplies,
With your remembering hands and eyes.

Perceptiple is the slow change,
The change of the wanted, the unwanted.
The hard protective lies are removed,
A simple truth rises, known but untold.
The sleepers have awoken, the dead revived.
From you, for you, a night.

From you, for you, a night..
Over is what, unaware, you lived.
Truth, maybe, what is left.
Broken like a glass, like a needle lost.
What comes seems to be what you expected.
And the gone; the sweetest, the warmest, the greatest.

Özdemir Asaf (1923-1981). Giden. Translated from the Turkish.

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