The more you travel the more cities you will find within yourself
The markets you have hidden in your memory will reveal your shadow
From the dead hours off past summers
Your wandering mind will catch up with you
Your dreams will again try to convince you
That you have no choice but to pursue them
All you see appears old, all you touch ungraspable
Just as when you first longed for something
You who were not born for the sake of being born
When, like a letter from away, you arrive in any city
Don’t stop, keep seeking why people die of love
Go from one end of your solitude to the other
On the steppe, in cities crossed by rivers
See if there is a child who wants to flow into the open sea
Who wonders why God cannot even make a paper ship
You paid your dues,
You felt a pure melancholy in parks,
You asked if there was a right time to cry in the squares,
You arrived at their meeting place before the lovers.
As the cities inside you call you to the ports of memory
You know that you will die continually
That’s how this love of wandering starts, that’s how it ends
A non-existent ship sets sail on a non-existent sea
Maybe you understand at last, Adnan, it’s like staying silent,
One day in Şardağı, another in a Amazonia.
How much more emptiness you will find within yourself,
You who were not born for the sake of being born,
Shall write what no traveller has written before;
Let God decide whether He exists or not…
EN 
MK