After death

AFTER DEATH
With many hopes about death we perished,
But the charm was broken in a vacuum.
Our song of love we cannot help exhume,
A view of the sky, tuft of twigs, bird's plume;
Living was a habit we had cherished.

No news comes from the world now or ever;
No one misses us, no soul cares to know,
The darkness of our night is endless, so
We might just as well do without a window:
Our image has faded from the river.

Cahit Sitki Taranci (1910-1956)
Translated by Talat Sait Halman

Posted: 11:05 a.m. EST May 24, 2006 by me ts