My Hands Go To My heart

Ali F Bilir

    I wish I had taken trips,
    I say to myself, to unknown places,
    that people were less strange to each other
    than our own feelings.


    I return to this familiar point
    and feel, along the bank of the river,
    wind sweeping away
    all the footprints in the sand.


    Whenever I read a poem
    about separation,
    my hands go to my heart.

    Translated by M. Ali Sulutas
    Edited in English by Susan Bright

    
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