Bu sabah yagmur var
İnce ince yagıyor
Sular birikiyor kücük cukurlara
Sanki gokler degilde kalbim aglıyor,
Sen yagmur , bense kücük bir cukur.
Gözyaşları degil bu yagan
Sadece yagmur , boslukları dolduran...

Hey Cenk, sana bi cift lafım var,
Neyi bekliyorsun ki?
Nefret edilmeyi mi?
Tekrar sevilmeyi mi?
Sadece gülüyorum sana
Dalga geçiyorum seninle
Hala farkedemediysen herşeyi
Devam et sevmeye, devam etki farket
Seni nasılda yendigimi.
Milyonlarca kölemden sadece birisisin
Karsılık beklemeden sevmeye devam eden
Benim işim de bu işte , kurban da sensin
Önce mutlu eder sonra da üzerim.
DüşÃ¼n bakalım habire yazdıgın şiirleri
Şimdi tanıdın mı ben kimim?
Benim adım "ASK" işte o benim..

and one more for you cenk as a reply to your last poem
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RqI6apzM4r0
thanx

a gift
Bolesław Leśmian, a great Polish poet(1878-1937)

…

Were I to meet you again for the first time,
But in a different orchard, in a different wood—
Perhaps for us the trees would sigh differently,
Extended into infinity under a misty hood...

Perhaps among the furrowed green you'd reach your hands
For other flowers, trembling as they were birds—
Perhaps from your undiscerning, unknowing lips
Would fall some other words—some other words...

Perhaps into a cascade of flaming roses
The sun would force our souls to burst for good,
Were I to meet you again for the first time,
But in a different orchard, in a different wood...”

and one more
Memories

Those paths I brushed
With the feet of a child - where have they gone ?
They roll down as tears do, hushed,
Out of the eyes, down, down.

The freshness of morning would wake me up.
The sun would be painting a masterpiece.
A golden coast - a golden pup,
A golden guitar - a golden precipice.

Stare. Stare sufficiently into the light
From the midst of a great silence, and in a while
You are bound to see a camel shining bright,
A bright-eyed robber with a glistening smile.

At breakfast the table became a desert. I stared
Till I rode the camel and I saw the gleaming thief.
Father, assured of his safety, never despaired
But read his paper calmly, rustling a leaf.

A triple rainbow embroidered the carafe,
The tablecloth, the cupboard, father's moustache.
A wasp, entangled in the lace curtains, would laugh
And the curtains laughed too, their threads in the sun, a bright patch.

And the rich floor, dreamily glittering, mirrored it all
The leaves of the palm shone brighter at the back
But melted shallowly, and a thin glaze would fall
As if someone had spilled greenery by mistake.

The arm-chair sipping its own velvet peace
Would grow heavier, comfortably, I think.
The sugar would plot for a blue spark's release
And the loaf of bread would turn pink.

The clock shakes free of its long compressed coils and booms
A prolonged note through the hall to the sky.
In that furnished day-dreaming among the sunny rooms
Everybody endures and does not die.

But something happened: something went wrong.
The same clock struck, but shyly, in another town.
The soul stumbled over the body that had grown too strong,
And they began to die, one by one.

Translated by Jerzy Peterkiewicz and Burns Singer
and another one
In the Dark

The lip is the lip's friend, the hand the hand's
Lying next each other each one understands
To whom he belongs - each one of the buried dead.
Unwillingly the night goes overhead;
The earth asserts itself, but hesitantly ;
And leaflessly the leaves move on a tree.
God stirs the wind and space: but He is high
Above the forest's distant forest sigh.
The wind says this to space:
"I'll not be back
Across this forest while the night shines black."
Still darkness thickens, pierced by small starlight.
The seagulls flying over the sea are white.
One says : "I've heard the fate of stars foretold."
The next: "I've watched the heavens themselves unfold."
The third is silent, but because it knew
Two bodies, glowing in the darkness, who
Wove darkness into their embrace: it found
Them made of the caress in which they wound.

Translated by Jerzy Peterkiewicz and Burns Singer

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W.H. Auden

great poems thnks kafesteki kus and handsom, thnks for sharing them with us

When you are old - William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.