Inside a smoke-gray suit, walking in the air, I went to the condolence of people I know. My father is there, at the table I am taking out the inside of seven loaves and filling in something else.
Reading
At evening time one goes on a road, a beautiful phone piece of news comes and is shared with others. The condolence is a situation about which one was hopeless. The father is a money matter. Seven loaves are glad tidings until seven months or until twelve. Filling the inside is making good use of the opportunities that passed.
This is an AI translation of Mehmet Emin Kırgil's Turkish reading.