My Teacher

by Üzeyir Lokman CAYCI
(Mantes la Ville, France)

Superannuated children
At the tether of insensitivity,
These are your work -
Born of selfishness,
Each generation slips away
Further and further.
From every sideways glance
Aimed at revolt
Fleas give birth to dragons
And they do it from the underside
Of workbenches only partially covered with tablecloths.
The month of September in their eyes
Pile up their hatreds day in and day out,
An anteroom for opportunists
A shelter annihilating love
And -
A prop
For confidence,
Whose opposite face falls into a ravine.

My teacher,
Before the wellspring
of your values dry up...
Draw near, and you'll see the capillary vessels
Of youth.
Draw near,
Before the last vestiges of your sensibilities
Are snuffed out, scattered by the winds of Time.

Oh, I know,
No matter what you plea,
Your inner Tribunal doesn't leave you free
So long as tomorrow drops suffering into your lap.
Events fall out on your right,
Secrets shake you up on your left
The source of worrying
Is in every tomorrow
Looming inside you...
Your accomplishments, my dear teacher,
Only see you
They can't see themselves!...

Üzeyir Lokman CAYCI
Paris, 30.04.2001
Traduit par Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Richard Vallance