Black stone on a White Stone (Homage to César Vallejo)
I shall die on an island with the crushing of the waves,
On a night when the moon is bright and gentle.
Suddenly like mortal entropy the ocean will roar
On a summer night, perhaps, in the heat of August.
It will be summer, I know already, I felt it last August
when my toes touched where the Mediterranean dunes and sea
Like us, promised each other to return in the morning
On a summer night with the heat impressing onto our skin.
Cagla Sokullu is dead. You would understand, if you fell
As she has, and with every tiptoe her blood was wine and
Took flight in her veins. She is the clouds.
In the beating heart of twilight, a fragile breath stutters
And falls away short of its dare. The sea,
the nymphs and the stars are her witnesses.