Calendar, Dedicated To My Poetiwife Poem by Okan Emanet

Just like the location of the moon in the sky,
The papers of the calendar in my life get to fly
When the word “moon” loses its first two syllables,
“on” becomes into a body, coming before all day-babbles
As all the beings cling to each day, my life sticks to you
On Monday, On Yousday, On our Wednesday, or On Thursday
I am drawing a shadow beside mine, which has turned into clay
On the wall of tomorrow stands the picture of your pretty eyes
Such a glance have you left over my soul, a great gate to paradise

“Sleep” is now a kind of dance I’ve already forgotten
Something as ocean-blue as your very being has deleted the breath
The womanity in my calendar has gained the real meaning in fact
The humanity in my heart is rising and sunny days are falling to death
The love in my all has become a literature only to feature your act
I’ve created a heart so fragile and depleted all the motten

Now, put a new trace on the dates of the calendar
And utter something spelling you and me;
Otherwise, I will lose everything and surrender
Let the calendar be on our side
Come onto my ways and be my bride
With the brilliant dress, into my own sight
Just as your name refers to being all alone
Let this soul be lonely, solely with your lovely-tone