“dastam nemiresad”
No longer can my hand reach
The branches of providence.
No longer can my hand reach
The moments of love.
Here, for another,
No heart beats.
Where is the cure? To a skilled physician,
My hand cannot reach.
Busy surviving, entangled in life,
Here, the poppy bud
Is beyond my grasp.
From every side I go, opposition calls;
Alas, agreement with the beloved—
My hand cannot reach.
Perhaps, amid this clamor, a voice may reach my ear,
Perhaps some word might awaken the sleeping world.
But your empty cries, full of madness and lies,
May one day fall silent.
Where is the one who will rebuild
This ruin anew?
Alas, to the Creator—
My hand cannot reach.
The poets have gone, the madmen of the city have died;
No longer can I reach such creatures.
Once, the speech of mortals
Was the song of love.
Alas! For such truths now—
My hand cannot reach.
I must cast my heart into the sea and set forth, yet
In the midst of this, no boat is within reach.
Perhaps, amid this clamor, a voice may reach my ear,
Perhaps some word might awaken the sleeping world.
But your empty cries, full of madness and lies,
May one day fall silent.
The green of spring, the sweet taste of life—
Even these moments, my hand cannot reach.