A QUESTION

I sat down by the lane at eventide
And wondered
What shall remain of us
Yonder cloud that flouts to the Caucasus
From the Balkan plateau and the plains
This soil growing darker with endless seasons
And the deep - rooted plane tree
Were here when we were not

Children's yellow lantern with the grin
Yonder moon
And on deserted balconies
The sun that dries both red peppers and sad
old folks
On one clotheshorse
Shall leave shadows on the grass
As it absent - mindedly from the earth retires

Upon crowded marts shall fall
The lees of cash
The merchant transported
From the bloodmarket to the grave
When the stream of sweat that turns the mill
Goes dry salt shall remain
And of the angry workers a memory

Irritable cats a tabby line
Shall become
And a desert gust
Arab steeds vanishing at a gallop
A map of rye the field mouse
Deserting the plain shall trace
Bird feathers the glass dome of heaven
With icy scripts shall adorn

All is change but try as we many
The long wall of history
Shall abide
The slave who leaves red stains on stones
And walks along the same road
Shall obliterate names of kings
Yet tomorrow at dark mountain tops
Like a malice shall be remembered
Branches of the boody family tree

The strains of our pipe
Of read and cherry tree
Scatter in the air
The wind of time in purple attire
Seemsto blow over the mounth of a well
This beautiful song too shall be forgotten
Whilst in suffering pain and blood
Our days are cast
And you will certainly pose this question
What then remains remains of us?

Onat Kutlar