Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Enis Batur

FIVE ROSES

I gathered five roses for you, My Love,
Apropos of nothing, five red roses, of blood,
Five white roses, of milk, five yellow roses, of golden leaf,
Of dawn, My Love,  I gathered five pink roses for you.

Another hand-picked them, my hand,
so cowardly, knows only how to plant, how
to touch: every inch of your body is
my blazeland, my fingers, for you, five black roses

of coal. Among all the words I have chosen, touch, soil
and the blank page too, so vain somehow,
I go, a lament on the snow, of my footprints
The thorns I’ve torn out: five pure roses for you.

Beş Gül

Beş Gül

Sizin için tuttum beş gül getirdim Sevgili,
durup dururken beş kırmızı gül getirdim, kan.
Beş beyaz gül süt, beş sarı gül altın yaprak,
tuttum beş pembe gül getirdim Sevgili, tan.

Başka bir el koparmış onları, benim elim
bunca korkak: Bir dikmeyi bilirim, bir de
dokunmayı: Tepeden tırnağa teniniz yangın
beldem, sizin için beş siyah gül parmaklarım.

kömür. Toprak, temas, sahi bir de ak kâğıt,
seçtiğim kelimelerin arasında nedense mağrur,
ilerlerim karda bıraktığım izler birer ağıt,
ayırdım dikenleri: Sizin için bu beş arı gül.
Close

FIVE ROSES

I gathered five roses for you, My Love,
Apropos of nothing, five red roses, of blood,
Five white roses, of milk, five yellow roses, of golden leaf,
Of dawn, My Love,  I gathered five pink roses for you.

Another hand-picked them, my hand,
so cowardly, knows only how to plant, how
to touch: every inch of your body is
my blazeland, my fingers, for you, five black roses

of coal. Among all the words I have chosen, touch, soil
and the blank page too, so vain somehow,
I go, a lament on the snow, of my footprints
The thorns I’ve torn out: five pure roses for you.

FIVE ROSES

I gathered five roses for you, My Love,
Apropos of nothing, five red roses, of blood,
Five white roses, of milk, five yellow roses, of golden leaf,
Of dawn, My Love,  I gathered five pink roses for you.

Another hand-picked them, my hand,
so cowardly, knows only how to plant, how
to touch: every inch of your body is
my blazeland, my fingers, for you, five black roses

of coal. Among all the words I have chosen, touch, soil
and the blank page too, so vain somehow,
I go, a lament on the snow, of my footprints
The thorns I’ve torn out: five pure roses for you.
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