I wouldn't tell my trouble to a man who has no trouble
One who doesn't go through trouble cannot know the value of trouble
It seems my trouble was my remedy, I couldn't know
A rose can never be without it's thorn
Thorned bush grows the rose
Bee makes honey from every flower
One finds virtue with patience
One who is not patient finds no purpose
Poets sigh and cry hard
Mighty mountains find prominence with their snow
Mad heart gurgles with it's rivers
It cries, cries, cannot wipe the tears
Veysel, days have passed age is now 60
My leaves fell down, my roses died away
The ship is loaded full with sorrow
Nobody can hinder the departure