into round holes put the square pegs

yerseniz eğer, bir nisan tandal şiiri. yok harbiden karnınız tok ve bir de tatlı istiyorsanız üzerine, işte, cem akaş , 7den ;

Into Round Holes Put the Square Pegs - cem akaş

When blue is the sky, the curled-up regrets on the table

which belong to a cat that hides its face (with its paw)

take our conscience by the hand and lead it to sleep, because

the hot noons that have to be endured with a single brain

are boring. The shadow of the willow throws its weight around

on the belly of the swallow, in our civilization that is the only thing

which one can still throw and be poetically correct,

even though girls write poems posthumously and there's

no stopping them. Carpe diem is no fruitcake.

It's the instant version of everything that counts these days.

Take it or take it.

Remember the days when we used to sleep in each others arms

like lambs, and come to your senses in horror, that was you, and you

had dreamed that no one saw you painting the grass, but now

that thud with which the eyelids open takes you from that sleep

and gives you back to the real one, so that the giraffe will have

no scruples about being fried while the earth goes on turning.

I feel bogged down. Which road takes me the farthest away

from myself. Our culture is in need of a new on-the-road movie,

don't you find.

You are able to detect crocodiles only in teardrops and

T-shirts and the only thing you question is the shelteredness

of a broken eyelash which the eyelash itself attempts to drop off

at the neighboring irresponsibilities like an instance of easy love,

only to be hindered by the Weight in one clean session.

Are we and horses brethren, like Nietzsche was?

I told you, didn't I?

To recap: our struggle is an attempt to stop up round holes

with square pegs, and I hereby quit,

forging my signature.