A big house in Ankara.
Undescribable fear in me.
So hot and my throat dry.
How white is a garden?
How a mummy pigeon died?
On the rusted bars of the balcony.
A snowfall could finish,
The year ’93 only this way.
We were at home, you silent and tired.
More than that smell,
You had radiotherapic and chemotherapic parfumes.
You had deep lines around your eyes.
You are also beautiful without make-up.
Even when you’re so weak and even your hair…
Gata! Not to see you again…
By Serhat Fırat Çakıcı