DOVER HEIGHTS

At the Olympus of Sydney the sun
Takes the darkness away
The pink of foolishness, the yellow of slyness, the greasy dullness of
obedience, acceptance fill up the sky and complete it.
The sky is full with our deads
Among our deads roams the God of Trade
-Destined to New York..
He sniffs the city, the harbour
The wind that fills the harbour..
On his bicycle passes by Hermes
Tired of delivering messages of aids
Artemis sunbathes on her terrace
Her black silk pantyhose on a plum tree branch
The melody from an ice cream van winding through the streets
Even finds the Cupid in the end
A melody similar to the timid touch of crystals
Keeps on echoing in my inner cliffs.
Which roof should I lift
Who is servant, who is slave
Who is the noble master..
Scent of rose at the bosom of gardens in make up
An acacia by the shore
Whenever seas the white bright sails
Regrets for not becoming a sailor
In a hand full of park
The grass with a number three hair cut
Keeps on tickling the tender feet of
The Olympian girls.
A pink kite opposes the wind
Without it doesn't it know its value
Does it ornate the memories
Or the wall of a child's room..

The pink kite of our youth
Sometimes over the sky of Sydney
Sometimes of Olympus..

Translated from Turkish by Ipek Goldeli