Prayers for a poet

May the artist heal
in front of everybody.

Sanatçı ekmeğini çıkarsın.
İçinde kalmasın.

May the muses that gift her these
thoughts that are not her own
or another human’s,
know that it’s a burden
keeping them, often not joy.

May they stay clear off her mind’s fears:

Vermin emerging
as if from a broken bottle unfilled with water,
they sneak into her cogitation,
stuff her pillow with speculation.
Mercenary, they tell a tale of thieves racing her.
Pranksters, they’re convinced fiends are hunting her down.
She won’t make it on time.
All this pain for a stillborn song.
Ears ringing.
Sleep pending.

May those pixies,
fast-moving fancies,
whispering all the gifts,
ask in return no more than being
shaped into her rhymes,
caught in the wires,
locked in the pages,
buried in charcoal.

May they leave her soul,

Cümleye dökünce gerçeklik
çalınmaya müsait
bir fikri mülkiyet.

Yaratana tek faydası
İçinden çıkması.

Aman içinde patlamasın
O en fenası.

May she heal,
for everyone to see.

May she learn
Her gift is free.
She owes nobody.

Âşığın ihtiyacı
yaşamak için aş,
ölmek için zehir,
dirilmek için su.

Hepsini ona ver.
Ziyan etmez, bilir:
Masalın esası yokluktan çıkar.

All that the artist needs is
food to live
poison to die
water to revive.

Give it all to her.
She won’t waste a drop, she knows.
Scarcity writes a true story.

Artist. Environmentalist. Immigrant. Mother. Investigating the links between environmental health and mental health.

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