Blacker than a grape,
waist finer than a needle,
how does the ant climb
the slopes with its burden?

Look at the state of this world,
look at the ruined order,
hatched yesterday,
today the dove of passion.

In the twinkling of an eye
the hawk swoops on the swallows.
When the monster's by the waterside
the gazelle is covered in blood.

I'm carrying the whole burden.
I have to think about each of them one by one,
the young coming into the world
ignorant of the world.

The sun rise in the east -that's for sure-
no surprise.
Then I'm the one who has to worry
when the bee stings a child.

The fox's paw is bloody-
something happens to the lamb.
What is the point, Oktay,
of paint for wolf and bird?

Translated by. Richard McKane