Furniture that takes
Terrible shapes when night comes,

Furniture that makes me
Shiver, fear,

Furniture that watches me
As I lose my temper,

Furniture whose eyes stay on me
Till the morning,

You could have told me,
– Your secret has become my worry-

Is each of you a wind,
Not moving, frozen?

Like me, do you think,
Dream, weep?

I believe you exist
Do you?

Cahit Sıtkı Tarancı (1910-1956). Eşya. Translated from the Turkish.

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