As the crippled dog follows its three faster friends,
As the mothers jealously bodyguard their daughters,
As the propagandist sculptures wait for tomorrow’s national holiday,
As the yawning passengers ride the early busses,
As the young dwellers share motorcycle rides,
As the waves mock the chubby joggers,
As the dark clouds ridicule the perfectly laid plans of tourists,
As I wait for nothing in Iskenderun; nothing elsewhere, waits for me.