I arrived eluding elite love affairs
I punctured through grief hard as nails
Jinda, there is a gutter’s distance left
until I overflow at your door
To burst open my heart, all skin and bones
Don’t ostracize me from your pavilion Jinda
As I arrived escaping upper crust love affairs
As we’ve seen at Zarathustra that pain has a womb
I ripped it up before pain got impregnated by more pain, a heifer
That corresponded to cranes and horses
We challenged the north eastern winds
There’s a drain pipes distance left
Until I overflow at your door
Jinda, I came burying my voice underground
Bestowed my poems to goddesses
So they may cry out my tattered heart
Under the accused rains of the 42nd
Let them blow away my soul
I turned in all my sense of self
Don’t you run from the rains Jinda
Come to your senses Jinda
You are the new day, the joy
Recover the broken bits from the swamps
Pave open the springs
Lay pains on display back-to-back
In the end, the silenced sobs need to be faced with fears
I’m here Jinda, at your doorstep
Don’t worry I didn’t trample on the flowers in the garden
They smell like labor, like you all in a chorus
They sing all from one scorched lip
Accompanied by the rains, of the accused 42nd
*Kırkikindi The name given to the continuous rains that usually span late Spring in Anatolia
