İkmäk kisägen aldım.
Kügärgän.
Min dä me kügäräm.
Laçın kebek irem
Yanımda yoklıy.
İsememne onıtkan!
Kübäläkneñ kanatları
ike yöräk kebek.
İkese dä yırtılgan
Közgedä äni.
– Balam, kartaydıñ, diyä.
– Kiçer mine!
Göllärem kipkän.
Su sibärgä kuzgalamın.
Artık ozın yul.
Küñel yäş tora.
Tän böreşä, böreşä.
Utlar sünä.
Kara bolıtlar
kük yözen kaplagan.
Koyaşnı kötäm.
© Fazile Nasretdin 2019
Butterfly wings – translation Fazile Nasretdin and Sabira Stahlberg
Took a slice of bread.
Mould is growing on it.
Will I get mouldy, too?
Husband like a falcon
is sleeping beside me.
He forgets my name.
The butterfly’s wings
look to me like two hearts.
Both have been torn.
In the mirror: Mother.
– My child, you are getting old, she says.
– Please, forgive me!
My flowers are dry.
I get up to water them.
The way is too long.
The mind stays young,
but the skin crumples, crumples.
And the lights go out.
The black clouds
wrap the sky in a blanket.
I yearn for the sun.
© Fazile Nasretdin 2019