By the Stove

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.

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