WIND

A ghostly child
Seems to run and run
Through the dust,
Leaving a trail.

The wind draws wide ellipses,
Erasing what it drew.

He climbs on to his horse,
That dry branch of willow,
Bouncing along
In a transport of joy.

The wind draws wide ellipses,
Erasing what it drew.

Quite lost in his game
He goes full speed ahead;
His slender body
Conquering the plain.

The wind draws wide ellipses,
Erasing what it drew.
 

	
Metin ALTIOK


Translation : Angela ROOME