Zehra has not written much for many days
Although during those days she has seen everything
But if she writes, what should she write? And if she thinks, what should she think?
Thought has dimmed a little, her hand trembles a little
Zehra has not written much for many days
She is not so naive as to say anything that comes to her mind
Her lips are not sealed without reason
Nor is she that old to tire easily
She has deliberately decided to be like this
She has kept everything in a suitcase of memories
It is the only way of living at ease
Zehra has not written much for many days
She thought the house and its effects were a fortress of protection
She learnt that the housekeeper is like a plaything made of clay
Be it clay or stone, diamond or pearl
Authority over the house belongs to the householder
What to say of helplessness when being governed
That stone in your hand is a prize for being a believer
Zehra has not written much for many days
The mandate of friendship which she hung on a wall
Has the tide of time destroyed that wall?
The sanctity of love’s mandate is just this
A quivering of the lips, a tie which is present from the beginning
Zehra has not written much for many days
Having raised two sons this naïve woman thought
She alone owned the wealth of this world
But time has revealed a mirror in which
A perspective of the picture has only now become clear
The world is an oyster for growing children
As it opens, each chapter is a spectacle
Parents are like an overly familiar map
Upon which all the colours are faded
Zehra has not written much for many days
She had thought that brothers and sisters are rivers of love
She saw that sometimes the river changes its course too
Brothers too are trapped as obligatory carers
Sisters too undergo that which fate decrees
There is a mother who talks to the trees
There are ten children to think of, but still she is lonely
Zehra has not written much for many days
Translated by Amina Yaqin