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Übersetzung aus dem kurdischen von Cihat Yilmaz

I was stuck between the door and my heart

You, on one side

And door, on the other

I could not leave neither the door nor you

How many cold autumns I have heated,

For every one of your fingers

Neither the door could leave me nor could I you.

I was stuck in the dilemma of the pain

The untimeliness of the times became destiny

In my heart’s dictionary,

Could not come to an end, the days and nights, without you,

Now, I am murdering the remnants of my suffering

Until my hands reach you.

The boundaries of the pain of your heart were without borders,

Here, I am searching a piece of you,

To patch my heart!

I was by the door and I was the love,

Standing before you. Tell me! What are you afraid of?

Every time when I turned and looked at you

A breakage was growing in my hands,

My hand was stuck in the door, you, in my heart.

Love was a burning night in my heart.

I was a prayer without complaint at your door,

Neither the door nor I could get on well!

A bridge on the fire between me and the door

It was a childish fear/ a meaningless escape,

Pain, in all your fingers, and a ball of fire.

Which side of the door was the heaven of the heart?


I was alone at my arrival to this world, so were you

And my departure is alone too, so is yours


What do you have in your pockets now,

Except a handful of soil and a white stone?


The most beautiful journey was your name,

A messy tornado, the dark hair on you.

Every days of your age was like a wine/ I was drinking them all.

With Evdalê Zeynikê, Mem û Sîyabend.

I know, you are as guilty as I and the door,

Your chest was the silence of the storm, and I, a naive tree

Now I am sending my waves, my pains to your door/ the doors which would open for me once again.

The door-2

The heart was stuck at the door...

I should get stuck between the door and my heart once again.

I should look for you once again.

For your eyes and for the life that was stolen from us.

When I saw you for the first time I was seven/ in a colourful dream standing by a wooden door inherited from my grandfather.

The dark eyes were stuck in the cracks of the door.

Then you were young/ I was a child.

Diyarbekir was hosting,

Pity, you trampled your youth

And I, my childhood.

When the cracks of the door have grown

And my age of seven is gone like a dream,

An iron door fell between us.

A door without a key / a door without feelings

A door that would never have cracks as in my age of seven.

I was deprived of you,

And a nameless missing for me.

After my age of seven, now with my womenhood

I am being stuck between the door and Diyarbekir...

Whenever I saw the cracks on unfamiliar doors, you came to my mind.

As now.

I do not know who has done wrong to whom.

Was it my childhood or your youth that I could not find?

Which one should I pursue?

Belated loves / or the cracks of my seven

Tell me. Which one is you?

Those doors which have been hurt thousands of times

And built boundless cracks in each wound.

Why are they not returning to me now?

Whenever I saw the cracks on unfamiliar doors, you came to my mind.

Those doors of mine which have been hurt thousands of times and built boundless cracks in each wound, why are they not returning to me now?

Say it! That was the knocking of my chest echoing on your door/

Or a stolen dream in a forbidden crack.

-I am on your chest, enter my home from the left side!

Oh door! Is this the sound of pain?!

Coward wrath has encountered me and my door without cracks, for thousands of times.

Whenever I run away from them

I become a dark cloud and rain on myself.

-I am at the door, oh door!

I am asking for an umbrella for them and for me until i don’t rain on myself.

It was a mythical flood, but unlike Noah’s...

At first ‘I liked it’

Later ‘I feared’

From fairy tales I knew, there is always good after every floods.

Why yours and mine are badness?


The heart was stuck at the door.

Desolate, helpless

Its both wings were broken/

The wheel was not turning,

Neither could I be seven years old

Nor you, a twenty-one years old boy!

Neither the beggars of lonely homeland

Nor the desperate junkmen

Reached out, the song of “lê lê and lo lo”

Extending in homeless cracks without doors.

The heart was stuck at the door,

Nights were fallen upon my nights,

Stars and the moon were disappearing in the lines of my quilt

Lamassus was bowing his head because of the heart and the door,

That is why his name was constantly changing!

The heart was stuck at the door…

I should have been stuck between the door and my heart, once again.

And life, should have become an eyelash again

And closed my eyes.

I saw you in my dream at the first time,

You were a door and I was headless nails in your crack

On this side, and the other, why did you after the heart

Like Dicle and Ferad,

We were going and coming,

Hope was only breaking eyes in an ancient crack,

For that, time was holding back.

I am still a child at your youth/ it doesn’t matter to me, your hundred years age…

The Door-3

A bird was singing at the door;

And the door was at your heart.

My suffering was repeating every night.

This time it is neither wood nor iron.

That was how our all nights and seasons.

Nor the sun could suit the night neither the seasons, left and right.

Day was forbidden, night was a suffering house

And the borders of the door was until the sunlight,

Whenever I heard the bird singing

I was a night bird,

Chasing the day which has your and my season.

I was a ring of fire between you and the door,

A rusty ring, and the sun was pure, dropping over my head any time I move.

A bird was singing at the door;

And the door, by a willow.

Every night a silent storm was bringing a shadow, plucking my heart.

An enormous night, my heart was plunged in you. Yellow flowers on the trench were mocking me! Saying, ‘bird and tree?’

A unique scarcity, your chest. And I was a broken excitement inside of it.

I am a night bird. I don’t know how it occurred, now I am on your branch.

My desires were unanswered, and yellow flowers of the trench bowed.

The bird was singing at the door;

And the door was by the dreams, dreams which were on a voyage

Me being a bird was like a shepherd, you and I, moving inside a solstice

Because I was becoming a bird and you were an eagle.

I was a line of destiny at the door of a nest,

Searching a sunlight, without iron, without a roof,

As if two mountains of a homeland,

As I could have known the name of the hunt became eagle

Breeding, the enormous nights, by time passing,

A sunflower was hosting a forbidden hunt,

Şûmiyane became a love for you and me

The song of the bird was a small beak by your wings!

My name was bird and yours was eagle,

Day and night were stuck

between earth and sky of unlocked doors.

I am a night bird, I want to rise over the clouds,

I am a night bird, I want to be a hunter,

And besides flowers, chasing after an eagle,

Until I become a phantom in his wings.

Until the wooden and iron doors become lost ashes.

The bird was singing at the door…

The Door: Dienstleistungen
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