Flight

A shoreless sea, the soul flying, never landing;
Was he such a bird, Noah in the flood?
Cloud-laden, the sky above;
Below, the powerful sea, foamy from eternity.
The sea troubled, unaware of their numbers,
Millions of waves chase millions of waves;
Its constant uproar, a song, spread far;
Calls in millions, millions of sounds.
As the soul flies high in the land of stars,
It begins to see the world it dreamt about.
Only high in the sky can it be fed.
From feelings imaginings take wing.
Only at this height is there boundless flight.
The soul, the bird with steel wings,
No land in sight on its skyline,
The sea, free, the sky, free, towards free horizons, it flies.

Yahya Kemal (1884-1958). Uçuş. Translated from the Turkish.

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