I wrote my poems with my heart

I wrote my poems
with my heart
I strolled abroad
With my manuscripts,
drew my expectations
into my drawings
The avalanche of suffering
crushes me.
I put years
on my back,
stored secrets
in my memory
Often I could not end
trips...

I was annoyed
by the hypocritical
before my eyes
The mothers gave birth
to tears
The orphans and the forlorn
distributed grief.

I wrote my poems
with my heart
I strolled abroad
With my manuscripts,
drew my expectations
into my drawings
The avalanche of suffering
crushes me.

© Üzeyir Çayci
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick  - 2002