To a Student

Tell me soft words, even if they are lies,

Your statue-like state is almost killing me*

You are still a child in the art of love,

Between you and I are seas and mountains.

You still cannot understand,

That all men are children.

I refuse to be like a midget clown,

who defrauds on his words.  

So if I stand silent in front of your beauty,

Silence in the presence of beauty is beauty itself

.

Our lovely words kill our love,

Letters die when they are pronounced,

Love stories have spoiled you,

As they are all trance, fairy tales and imagination.

Love is not an oriental story, my dear,

Which ends with the marriage of its protagonists

But It is sailing without a ship,

While we’re knowing

We will never reach our destination.

It is the continuous trembling of our hands,

The lingering of an unspoken question.

The stream of sorrows running deep inside us

With vines and crops growing on its sides.

It is these crises which bind us together.

We perish so that hopes prosper.

Love is revolting over silly things,

It is our despair, it is our lethal doubt.

Love is the hand that assassinates us

And we kiss this hand that assassinates.

Don’t hurt a statue in its feelings

As how many statues cried in silent..

It’s enough for me and you, that I can keep you like this,

A secret which tears me up and is unspeakable.

Tell me

*The two first verses are spoken by her (the student)