Literature: İsmail Palıt – Düşünüş / To Think / Réflexion
If you step inside thinking it’s heaven,
You will be disappointed.
For its not a white which is also bright.
A little gray, more of a blue.
This is a spiral,
Entangled roads, hands legs,
Rivers, voices, lives…
Impossible to step out of.
A hour smooth like oil.
A time, slightly past two.
The road beneath me leaves constantly.
Voices catch my attention disjointly.
I conjoin them and listen closely.
-Tick Tock, Tick Tock-
Then the stairs,
One by one.
Someone walks past me.
Another one,
Then another one,
This is a human herd,
A section of the largest herd.
I climb the stairs.
-Tick Tock, Tick Tock-
That women climbed halfway through.
Then crumpled and squeezed in between two steps.
One hand on the floor underneath the shoulder,
The other in mid-air right beneath my eyes.
This hand is full of money, 2.5 Turkish Liras.
2.5 bread, 2.5 days inside her palm.
Must have been inadequate, hand still rests in mid-air.
The womens eyes fixed on the floor.
Can she see?
It’s like she sees but is she looking?
It seems she doesnt.
The women waits, as if she did everything unconsciously.
She waits, as if consciousness never existed.
She waits, -Tick Tock Tick Tock-
The women’s hand full of 3 Liras, 3 breads, 3 days.
And 5 Liras.
And 10.
Those two steps no longer stand beneath me.
I walk past.
The women isn’t there now, as if she never was.
Now, she is wherever I think of…
So I think.
An hour, a little left ‘till 12.
Wednesday heavily rises to stand from the seat;
From Kızılay’s* lengthy flower.
And Thursday approaches far off,
A whole week on the road, jaded.
The woman too stands up, right after Wednesday.
Recounts her palm, enough bread.
The Women’s eyes fixed on the bus, this time she sees.
The Women’s mouth is at home, still won’t say a word.
Kids run around,
And only run around.
Kids, clueless about every little thing,
Kids, to be truly shameless.
The women listens, conjoined the voices.
-Tick Tock Tick Tock-
Her eyes fixed on the darkness
As if she sees some things.
What she sees isn’t what she desires to see.
The woman stands numb, like she lost all hope,
She stands, like hope never existed before.
The women’s eyes shut for the last time, that very night.
Those eyes which,
If you step inside thinking it’s heaven,
You will be disappointed.
For it’s not a white which is also bright.
A little gray, more of a blue.
Translated with the author’s approval by Irmak Ertaş
Literature+: Collage artist and Graphic Designer Kathoum Abdullah
Born in 1991. Studied in Plato Vocational College, Graphic Design department. Still continues to work as a freelancer graphic designer. Preferring to use digital/print collages to express herself, the artist also designs book covers and uses literature frequently as the foundation in establishing her work.
