STREETS

Streets have their seasons too.

Some streets you walk in spring,
the time of judas - trees and nigtingales.
Some ara for winter - passage;
a snow - laden pine branch
bows courteously to greet you.
Some are hilly,
when you climb, the north wind 's at your back,
and on a Ramazan evening
you gaze and gaze at dusty clusters of unripe grapes.
There are wide straight streets.
Sheltering between their walls
horse - chestnut trees grow high along both sides.
Asphalt roads give back their warmth to the sun
and stony roads gather rainwater in their bosoms.
There are streets where tar
drips from the stovepipes on the sidewalk.
Lowers frequent the until streets
and when the south wind blows they stray
on roads going down to the sea.
The street of planetrees is finest in autumn.
In unpaved streets that delight children,
birds who've forgotten how to fly strut side by side.

There are narrow streets, rundown and shadowy.
In spring - cleaning season the houses overflow,
and on festival mornings
a kilim and a pot of basil sometimes embrace.

A street without seasons
where I've never strayed yet,
in a tiny corner of the world
is waiting inpatiently for me.

Melisa Gürpınar