Don’t ask my friends how are you I got old, my knees are not holding anymore, Snowy winters have come to us, there is death for us, I have run out of breath now.
My roads ran out, we came to the slope, I have no hair left, if only one strand, Even though my sazes are sporadic, Not everyone gets tired of my wires anymore.
I traveled for years in foreign hands, Whatever I write, they are all suffering, The past has passed, Friends were empty, in vain, There is no smoke in my stove anymore.
I was born alone now I’m alone again Those I labored have gone to the grave, Parent brother and sister separation, He is no longer holding my back in narrow days.
The separation doesn’t come back patched, Separation from my half bent my waist, My beautiful puppies left me, Prayers are not coming out of my tongue anymore.
My friends, we got older, we entered the queue, My heart stumbles on the roads, I don’t know when it will stop. There is no good breath from my mouth anymore.
Mawla will say that he will come one day, Friends with a green coffin to take, At the altar, my imam is haunted by stone, Life is out of the body, it does not stop anymore.
The Azrael will pass over to me suddenly, Hüdayi says Mawlam, welcome me nicely, Neighbor to the apostle send to heaven, My tongue knows no other prayers anymore.
23.03.2021 // KIRIKKALE HÝDAYET DOÐAN
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