1
On the clothesline, over the underwear she had hung,,
The husbandless bride who always laid another piece of clothing
That day she was praying
To a famous singer
Whom we always saw in underwear
The singer, on some sacred day,
In the name of God,
Had opened a charity table
The husbandless bride had brought food from the mosque for her orphans
The orphans finally ate meat until they were full
And then used that clothesline
Like a volleyball net
They were playing very clumsily
The ball was often going into aut
The ball was going into aut — like the life of this husbandless bride
2
It was his first time boarding a plane
He gave his life
For the “Home–Cemetery” flight
He bought a ticket
But this was a wooden plane
One passenger on board,
With many pilots
3
He is an extremely wealthy man
But he never helped to the utterly poor,
To the ownerless people,
To the ones with no one at all.
He turned a prominent part of the city
Into a paradise — at his own expense —
By flattering the officials.
He has gone on pilgrimage to Mecca many times
And wants to go to paradise when he dies.
Yet this city dump
Feeds all the city’s ownerless dogs.
If such a man goes to paradise,
He will turn that place into a dump too.
4
Freedom Is in Chains
(A Letter of Gratitude)
I’m grateful to you, my dog,
In moments of helplessness, in storms of anger—
I take you for a walk,
and somehow, I find peace.
It’s easy for you—
you lick your wounds
and heal yourself.
But I can’t heal mine—
the Ministry of Health
won’t let me.
It’s easy for you—
when lonely, you howl
and express yourself.
But I couldn’t publish myself—
the Ministry of Taxes
didn’t let me.
So you, my loyal dog,
are freer in your chain,
freer in your chain
than I am.
If you can,
lick my wounds too.
But if you could ever
lick my heart—
I’d be grateful
to you all my life.
