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I'm bound to you, you can't know
I keep your name in my mind like a nail Your eyes get bigger and bigger I'm bound to you, you can't know I'm warming me inside with you The trees are getting prepared for the autumn Is this city that old Istanbul? The clouds are breaking up in the dark Street lamps are suddenly on Smell of rain on sidewalks I'm bound to you, you're not here To love is sometimes sordidly frightening One gets tired suddenly at a nightfall Because of living in captivity at the mouth of a razor Sometimes his passion breaks his hands Extracts several lives from his life Sometimes whichever door he knocks A naughty humming of loneliness behind it A poor phonograph is playing in Fatih A Friday from the olden times is playing If I stop and listen at a corner undisturbed If I bring to you an unused sky The weeks are moldering in my hands Whatever I do, whatever I hold, wherever I go I'm bound to you, you're not here Maybe you're the blue dotted child in June Oh, no one knows you, no one A cargo boat is leaking at your lonely eyes Maybe you're getting on a plane at Yeşilkoy Maybe you're soggy, getting the shiver Maybe you're blind, broken, in haste A bad wind is taking your hair away Whenever I think of a life Maybe it's hard in this table of wolves Shameless, but without soiling our hands Whenever I think of a life Saying "be quiet" I'm beginning with your name Your secret seas are moving through me inside No, it won't be any other way I am bound to you, you can't know |
I’m listening to Istanbul, with my eyes closed;
First there is a soft breeze; Slowly slowly swings the leaves On the trees; Far, very far away, The nonstop bells of the watermen; I’m listening to Istanbul, with my eyes closed. I’m listening to Istanbul, with my eyes closed; The birds fly by, then High, in groups, loud. Fishnets are pulled in at the harbors; A woman’s feet touches the sea; I’m listening to Istanbul, with my eyes closed; I’m listening to Istanbul, with my eyes closed; The cool air of the covered bazaar; Mahmutpasa so loud; Courtyard full of pigeons Sounds pulling away from the docks Beloved spring air, the odor of sweat; I’m listening to Istanbul, with my eyes closed; I’m listening to Istanbul, with my eyes closed; I’m drunk on the thoughts of other lands, A seaside palace with its dim boathouses; The inside murmur of the southwest winds I’m listening to Istanbul, with my eyes closed; I’m listening to Istanbul, with my eyes closed; A woman of easy virtue walks on the sidewalk; Oaths, songs, yelling; Something drops out of her hand; It must be a rose; I’m listening to Istanbul, with my eyes closed; I’m listening to Istanbul, with my eyes closed; A bird flutters on its skirts; I don’t know if your forehead is warm; I don’t know if your lips are wet; A white moon rises, behind the pistachios I understand your heartbeat; I’m listening to Istanbul. |