It's time to shop high heels if your fiance kisses you on the forehead.
My CountryI don't have any caps left made back homeNor any shoes that trod your roadsI've worn out your last shirt quite long agoIt was of Sile clothNow you only remain in the whiteness of my hairIntact in my heartNow you only remain in the whiteness of my hairIn the lines of my foreheadMy country-Nazim Hikmet
Violinists wear the imprint on their necks with prideFor they are the players of harmony.Pilgrims, too, wear the imprint on their foreheads with prideFor they are the conductors of unity.And Lovers? Why, they are made humble by the imprint on their heartsFor they are merely the instruments of rhapsody.