We are on the horizon of the evening of no return. It is too late;
O life! Pass how you will, this is the last phase.
Even if we could imagine there is rebirth,
The comfort of its consolation, we would not want.
The endless silent night starts,
As you pass through a great gate.
Its wide wings opening in emptiness, pitch-black, with no sunrise.
In the final gardens, facing the sunset, as you wish,
Either perish in desire or be a heart in love!
In our bosom, let bloom either tulip or rose.
Yahya Kemal Beyatlı (1884-1958). Rindlerin Akşamı. Translated from the Turkish.