doors of houses

The doors of houses recognize the seasons,

They wait for the rain, after the hot summer,

shrunken nerves of their hearts,

want to get that expansion,

Which is achieved only by standing under the amber and getting wet in the rain.

Stuck in the doorsteps,

They feel the slow footsteps of the seasons in their hearts.

that can be detected by air vibrations,

they know how to read that script,

Which is written only in the sky.

humidity in the air makes them moist,

The speed of breaking propels their wings,

The movement and vibration of the waves invite them to be swept away,

Hanging on the walls, they calm down just by shaking their heads in howl,

Just like a child gets tired of playing with a toy and falls asleep.

they recognize our footsteps,

going up and down stairs,

They know when we are returning from a funeral procession, carrying our own burden.

The dry soil on our slippers signals to them,

Of wandering in our deserts.