An Empty Nest

Yesterday, on my way to the farmers market, I fell on my head and back quite brutally , on the stony asphalte, at the icy end of a slope. Not only the physical pain of my head but I felt so ashamed as tha cars stopped to the incident. And sweeping my tears from my cheeks I realised I suddenly felt so uniquely alone and felt the urge to shed more tears.

I felt as if being alone is "fearful in an offending way / Sometimes one gets exhausted of living captive on a blade". This how I felt it just the way  Atilla ILHAN describes "loving" in one of his very well-known poems*. 

Now and then I am asking myself, although my home is blessed with friends, with dreams came true, joy and love like my cats jumping each other, is there an empty nest inside of me? Is it an obligation?

Does purification bring isolation?

The back of my head and my neck hurts still, but not these thoughts anymore as I am putting them down here.

* - I AM OBLIGED TO YOU

I am obliged to you, you can not know
Like a nail this is how I am keeping your name in my head
Your eyes get bigger and bigger
I am obliged to you, you can not know
I am warming up inside with you

The trees getting ready for the fall
Is this city, that old Istanbul?
The clouds shredded in the darkness
The street lights are on all in a sudden
The smell of the rain on the sidewalks
I am obliged to you, you are missing out

Loving is sometimes fearful in an offending way
One gets exhausted suddenly, on a late afternoon
Of living captive on a blade
Sometimes
His passion breaks his hands
Makes out many lives from his living
Whichever door he knocks sometimes
The sneaky whirling of loneliness at his back

A gramaphone is on in Fatih
Plays a Cuma from the old times
I wish I could listen at the corner perpetually
If only I could bring you an unused sky
The weeks crumble in my hands
Whatever I do, whatever I hold, wherever I go
I am obliged to you, you are missing out

Maybe you are the child in blue dots
Oh noone knows, noone knows you
A cargo vessel oozes away in your deserted eyes
Maybe you are taking a flight in Yesilkoy
You are soaked, you have goose pumps
May be you're blind, you're broken
The evil wind hurls your hair

Whenever I think of a living,
May be hard around this table of volves
Without a shame, without getting our hands dirty
Whenever I think of a living
I say shush and I begin with your name
Your secret seas moves inside me
No, there is no other way
I am obliged to you, you can not know

Atila ILHAN
Ben Sana Mecburum
through my modest translation