I realized that I was not born for myself.
I realized that I live for the sake of it,
without wanting it.
My dreams are a sandalwood without a shovel,
my hopes are a heavy wound at the bottom of a blind well.
That's why my life is so different.
My eyes are not old enough to be born.
I left my youth in the city where I was born.
I was a lonely man in the narrow streets,
in the desolate streets.
I was the
light of the dark neighborhood.
I left my love in the city where I loved.
I left
my innocence,
my madness,
my childishness in the city where I loved.
I didn't forget my mother,
who was a shining water boiler.
I hid my fires in the house where I was born.
The time of the month had come and I had a heart attack.
I filled my belongings with tears while I was collecting them.
I was a traveler, Arduk.
That day I realized that I was not born for myself.
That day I realized that
I live for the sake of it, without wanting it.
You left too, mother.
You left me alone.