One night I dreamt of the land of death,
Amid the silence, in sorrow, I strolled.
Like a stopped clock, no movement of time,
Frozen and still, a world with no sun.
Ethereal dignity dominant from ground to horizon,
Llight flowing from a fountain.
As, in twos and threes, strollers, pure white, walked past,
I knew they were mortals in what is called the afterworld.
Very pale were their faces. I gazed sorrowfully,
I felt they were without body, imaginary.
As they turned towards another quarter after this promenade,
From the fountain they took and drank a cup of light.
They kept thanking God,
And quietly, slowly, arm in arm, they entered a road.
The dream I had was as I have narrated,
It is a dream. I wonder if it is a different world, death?
Yahya Kemal Beyatlı (1884-1958). O Taraf. Translated from the Turkish.