This article is the English version of the article Arının Şarkısı.
I feel like my heartbeats are linked to a gong. Each time, they reverberate louder and louder. They sway between my feet. A drop of water then falls from the sky. I think it’s raining, but no, a single drop. I can hear it is screaming. It occasionally sizzles like a broken television. A robot, a little kid’s toy, is approaching from behind. Someone is touching a piano at regular intervals. Each time a different key creates a distinct sound. I keep hearing my heartbeats. Sounds are getting louder.
Television is even more scratchy now.
My ears are ringing.
It feels like a plane is coming,
I look at my shoes.
There is no plane.
The bee comes later.
There is no flower.
The bee flies quite fast.
There’s also a fly.
Like a drunk fly.
Do they know each other?
I do not know.
I still hear my heartbeat, nonstop.
Waves of the sea whisper to me,
I hear it.
Then again.
Where is the closest sea?
The train is approaching in distance.
Very fast though.
The bee is afraid to be crushed.
I don’t know how to fly.
Then the fly dies.
I don’t know if the bee is upset.
Could not the fly escape,
does it commit suicide?
Everything I hear fluctuates between my hands. They don’t fall off when I move my hands. They do not tear apart. I hear it all between my two eyes. Between my two shoulders. It hits one of my shoulders to the other one. It’s like hitting the shoes of everyone going up the stairs. It hits my knees too. Also on my ankles. It also hits the water, a little water. A spoonful ocean. Slowly, the rings are forming after the sounds sank. The rings spread, but the sounds do not sink completely.
The bee is still flying. Still no flowers.
Before the sun goes, the moon comes later. I hear its voice. It doesn’t speak, but it has a voice, I can hear it. The sun doesn’t set either, I see it.
Water lifts everything.
I can’t even lift a fly on the ground.
The fly is dead.
I feel sorry.
How long have I loved this fly?
The bee is not crying,
still flying.
I can still hear my heartbeat. Very noisy. My ear hurts.
The bee is afraid.
My existence scares the bee.
The sun doesn’t set.
Which one is bigger, Sun or Moon?
Both are there. But I can’t see both of them at the same time.
The bee is flying. I am walking.
I fall when the voices land on my shoes. Heavy.
The fly is still dying. I don’t know if I’m still upset.
Where, in which direction am I going?
All north.
The sun does not set, there is no west.
I don’t remember where it was born, let it be north.
Sounds land on my feet, I fall again.
The bee does not fly. On my shoulder.
It doesn’t sting me.
I’m not squeezing it either.
We are going.
I wonder if it knows where we’re going?
We hear my heartbeats, the bee is less afraid now. I am scared too.
Then sounds fall into another spoonful ocean.
They still don’t sink.
Water lifts everything. I can’t even lift a fly. Is the fly still dying?
The bee is flying.
Over my head.
I want to hear it rather than my own heartbeat.
The bee sings to me.
There is only me.
Still no flowers.
It is flying, I am walking.
I’m falling again.
Then we go, again.
The reverberations never end.
I can also hear other sounds of the piano. All different.
How many keys does the piano have?
For the first time, a bee smiles at me.
I love the song it sings. I wish it would always sing to me.
The sounds also find another spoonful of the ocean to fall into.
But they still do not go away from us. We can’t get away.
Sounds still do not sink.
Another train comes.
This train ignores us.
We see and go.
Where are we going?
Still, my heartbeats can be heard, they still reverberate.
Despite the bee’s song, I hear it: that I live.
I smile at the bee too.
That’s our unique common word.
We smile the same language.
The bee is flying, I am walking.
We are going.
I don’t know how far we’ve come.
But we are closer.
To where?
Maybe the bee knows.
The sizzles sink into its wings.
But it still sings.
It smiles,
I smile.
Then we arrive.
In the lap of sounds,
we are in a
glass of ocean.
We do not sink
Water lifts everything.
I couldn’t lift the fly.
The fly is dead.
No sizzle.
The train is gone.
The bee does not sing.
I look at my shoes.
The bee is gone too.
I’m not walking.
I’m not falling.
We are not going.
Where are my shoes?
I don’t hear my heartbeat.
Still no flowers.
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