Hüdayı Hüdaza'nın Gavurcası

I didn’t know she wrote poetry

Now my enjambements are but dry none-sense

Fertile texts
Holy Mary,
I didn’t know also she recited hadiths 
I have lost
A life of Plan B
Neither rhythmic nor rhymed
A Turkish not even pure, just bland
An artificial French
Germans in search
Down with Enverland
I didn’t sleep tonight
Circles under my eyes.
I was actually supposed to die this morning
But the weather wasn’t suitable
I had informed my friends
They’re used to my lies
Of course, a poet's words are but lies
I got lost in Tarabya
I think it was on this shore I spoke to one of you about suicide
Or perhaps it was this cobblestone that split my temples
Only if I could start over, try again-
Madam, you didn’t really listen to me
No, it wasn’t that I was angry at
I didn’t know she wrote poetry
But I did say, her eyebrows were of dreams
My mourning at this wedding is poetry itself
A murmured, silent poem
Neither a melody of revolution nor one to raise children with
Oh, those of fifteen, oh, those of fifteen
In my chest reside fires within
I have lost
Crimes beneath my skin
Sin soaked into my tongue
A stuttering poet