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Letter To My Wife

 Bursa Prison
My one and only!
Your last letter says:
"My head is throbbing,
 my heart is stunned!"
You say:
"If they hang you,
 if I lose you,
 I'll die!"
You'll live, my dear--
my memory will vanish like black smoke in the wind.
Of course you'll live, red-haired lady of my heart: in the twentieth century grief lasts at most a year.
Death-- a body swinging from a rope.
My heart can't accept such a death.
But you can bet if some poor gypsy's hairy black spidery hand slips a noose around my neck, they'll look in vain for fear in Nazim's blue eyes! In the twilight of my last morning I will see my friends and you, and I'll go to my grave regretting nothing but an unfinished song.
My wife! Good-hearted, golden, eyes sweeter than honey--my bee! Why did I write you they want to hang me? The trial has hardly begun, and they don't just pluck a man's head like a turnip.
Look, forget all this.
If you have any money, buy me some flannel underwear: my sciatica is acting up again.
And don't forget, a prisoner's wife must always think good thoughts.

by Nazim Hikmet
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