Your Soul

Your soul is a river my sweetheart,
flowing from up there, through the mountains
towards the plain,
towards the plain but never reaching it
never reaching to join the willow trees in their sleep;
never reaching the comfort of the wide arches of the bridges,
            the marshes, the green headed ducks;
never reaching the soft sorrow of the plain;
never reaching wheat fields in moonlight
it flows towards the plain.
It flows from up there, through the mountains,
pulling with it the clouds gathering this minute, dispersing the next;
carrying in the night, the big stars,
the stars of mountain tops

also carrying the sun of mountain snows,
gurgling and bubbling it flows fiercely
mixing white pebbles with black ones.

It flows together with its fish swimming updrift
Hesitant at the bends,
then falling down the cliffs, then rearing up
Gone crazy with its own thunder
flows from up there, through the mountains
towards the plain.
Towards the the plain,
chasing the plain,
but never reaching the plain.
                                                                              3 Şubat 1960
Tr. by Cahit Baylav