I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closedThe drunkenness of old timesIn the wooden seaside villa with its deserted boat houseThe roaring Southwestern wind is trapped,My thoughts are trapped.I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closedA bird is flying around your skirtI know if your forehead is hot or coldOr your lips are wet or dry;Or is a white moon is rising above the hazelnut treeMy heart's fluttering tells meI am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed

-Orhan Veli Kanık

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