As a child, weeks were centuries for me;
Then they were hours, seconds then…
The first thought, non-existence gnawed at me:
Why do I exist, if my end is non-existence?

You too don’t exist, non-existence; you do, then you don’t!
Deprived of their own existence are human beings…
Let the scorpion of non-existence come and sting me!
The poison is the essence of life for mortal beings…

Necip Fazıl Kısakürek (1905-1983). Zehir. Translated from the Turkish.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s