As famosas flores de sábado
Todo sábado as rosas brancas estão presentes na minha mesa esteja onde eu estiver...essa foto ficou com um ar nostálgico muito lindo.
E por ter esse ar nostálgico segue o poema mais lindo do Nazim Hikmet escrito pra sua esposa de dentro da prisão.
Uma das coisas mais sensíveis que li na vida. (Os parágrafos são desse jeito no poema original)
LETTER TO MY WIFE
33 - 11 - 11
Bursa
Prison
My only one!In your last letter
"My head aches
my heart is stunned!"
you say."
If they hang you,
if I lose you;"
you say;
"I can't live!"
You'll live my dearest wife,
like a black smoke in the wind my memory will vanish;
you'll live, the red-haired sister of my heartat most one year it lasts
in the twentieth century
the grief of death..
Deatha dead body swinging on a rope.
My heart doesn't accept
such a death..Butbe sure that, my love,if some pitiable gypsy's
hairy black spider like hand
slips the rope
around my neck,to see the fear in my blue eyes
they'll look in vain
at Nâzım!And I,in the twilight of my last morning,shall see my
friends and you,and carry only the griefof an unfinished song
to the soil...My wife!Good hearted,
golden coloured,
with eyes sweeter than honey, my bee;
why did I write you
that they want to hang me,
the trial is in the first stepand they don't pluck like a turnip
the head of a man.Come, forget them all.
These are so far away probabilities.
If you have some money
buy me a flannel underwear,
my sciatica is acting up.And don't forget that alwaysthere should be good thoughts in the mind of a prisoner's wife.
tr. by Fuat Engin
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