Sonnets I, by Metin Altiok

Look, my love, time is passing:
Eating away all the pleasant feelings.
What we're left with is a half-hope,
To stand to the dark tomorrows.
When the unerasable warm taste of your mouth in mine,
Wanders in my palate with lust;
I had freedom in my heart, and death in my mind,
When the wind was wailing with sorrow.
How weird, one doesn't forget mundanities,
Even when making love to you on a mattress.
I think of gloomy young mothers,
In bazaars, with string bags in their hands.

What a pity, no chance of love in this bitter world,
Nothing to share, except for sorrow.

Soneler I, Metin Alt─▒ok

Sevgilim bak, ge├žip gidiyor zaman:
A┼č─▒nd─▒rarak b├╝t├╝n g├╝zel duygular─▒.
Bir yar─▒m umuttur elimizde kalan,
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A─čz─▒mda a─čz─▒n─▒n silinmez ─▒l─▒k tad─▒,
Dama─č─▒mda k├Âsn├╝yle gezinirken;
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D─▒┼čar─▒da r├╝zg├ór ac─▒yla inilderken.
Unutulmuyor ne tuhaf d├╝nya i┼čleri,
Seninle bir d├Â┼čekte sevi┼čirken bile.
D├╝┼č├╝n├╝yorum h├╝z├╝nl├╝ gen├ž anneleri,
├çar┼č─▒larda, pazarda ellerinde file.

Bu kekre d├╝nyada yaz─▒k ge├žit yok a┼čka;
Bir ┼čey yok payla┼čacak ac─▒dan ba┼čka.