İ fili mou Apostolina and I always talking about the same thing
searching our childhood
digging with a shovel in the Mesaoria plain
the occupation history has passed in between the times
in one village school our coats were not hanged side-by-side on the rack
actually our villages were not far from each other
mine is Ayia Kebir
at Ashia her home is at bano neighbourhood
we've gone to school in Famagusta
from the misty glass of an old camera
we are writing our childhood
before the end of the first scene
i fili mou leaves a will
‘do not bury me in the English soil’
as I write
the abyss is drawn in between us
yearning loneliness
at every time Aphrodite
do not look like Aphrodite again
they've changed the map of our dreams
even though they split our water how do we share the time
I want such a voice to the sound of the bouzouki and the saz
Pidgeon to land on the wire
Let’s not look at the singing voice’s face from the back
but from the front
not to be suddenly silenced over when cheering
the rain to start and never stop
the graves are adding sadness into its sound
as if never offended to look into the mirrors smiling
children not to be lost at the border
to ask your name, want your address
to kiss from your hair
and your eyes not take saddle your suitcase and depart

our eyes are staring at the doors tall and resentful but free.

Günsel Djemal Elüstün 25.03.2015