My days have been filled with sins I cry for so many wasted years, My yesterday was a vague tale, I cry for the road that ends quickly.
Youth passed like a dream, Their maturity was quickly exhausted, Old age came, my waist bowed, I cry to the branch, whose end is in hand.
Mawlam gave me trouble, I looked for a remedy, How would I get angry saying it doesn’t give I wanted to beg good everyday I cry in the hand that does not pray.
My days are less and the grave is getting closer, My shroud touched my prayer, My tree has been cut and my turn is near, I cry in the woods made of wood.
I read and pray the Quran, One day it will come to us, We will enter the black earth too, I cry for the arm carrying my funeral.
I run to the waste, get excited with him, My remaining life is short, I run to the right, I love the Messenger, I send greetings, I cry in the flood that does not bring me down.
If I exist, if I kiss his Ravza once, If I see the Resul with kindness in the world, Under my feet I daze my face, I cry without pain, without pain.
If I enter your paradise and see my Lord, If I drink from Havz-ý Kevser once, If I pass the hüdayi row easily, I cry for the wish that will burn on your pomegranate.
09.05.2017 // KIRIKKALE HÝDAYET DOÐAN
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