Who will bring what?
They hold the keys
to the things they cannot leave.
It is sensed
who will come when.
The cat on its bed
sings the folk song to itself.
People are sometimes so lonely.
Poet: Behçet Necatigil
Translated by: C.Stockford at the Cunda International Workshop
for translators of Turkish literature, 2015
Photo: CS, Cunda, 2015