One evening, a quiet knock on your door,
Instantly, the furniture pulsates.
You get up, leave your chilly pillows,
Open the door with trembling hands.
A familiar vision appears,
Holding it by the shoulders, shake it;
Even if just skin and bone, let it for a moment,
With kisses, take you into its bosom.
And as the vision returns to its underworld,
Close the door behind it;
On your own by the stove,
In silence, looking at your hands, feel the warmth.
Ahmet Kutsi Tecer (1901-1967). Ocak Başında. Translated from the Turkish.