The heart














Let’s cease the blame saying life has no meaning
One day the loneliness will have reached its’ peak
If we could not find a solution for our desire
We can be still quietly able to shed our tears.

Let’s cry, may our tears look beautiful
If it falls calmly for love
Regardless if we always search for our bad luck
It’s a luck when every night turns into a dream.

Let’s not seek the beauties from the rose
The trace of blood is beautiful, that left on the thorn
When we remember the blood-pumping heart
Its’ struggle like the melody of a beautiful song.

From Perhat Tursun’s novel “The Art of Suicide”.
Translated by Aziz Isa Elkun.