Cry

I think my childhood and youth ended while I was fighting with the police.

These were the days of camaraderie; 'Siblings! ' one of us was saying

'Let the deer of the mountain and the poetry of the tongue be witnesses; our mother's white milk

Let it be known that we are right, we will win! ' Those were the days of the barricade.

While I was carrying a wounded brother on my shoulder, I was saying courage

The craziest foal was floating in my voice without hesitation.

We were flowing through a wild valley, our hooves covered in blood!

We were a loud cry and it was the days of friendship

If life has a story, ours was a little like this.

Death caught our youngest, he was seventeen

Now whoever has lost his memory is silent for a long time

What is age, what is forgetting; Time passes through the eye of a needle

There is a tare of accumulated memories and deaths

On the page reserved for us by a stuttering history writer

We are a bloody signal that distorts the spelling of history.

We are a wounded cry in this world we live in



Number of Pages: 97

Year of Printing: 2016


Language: Turkish
Publisher: Everest Publications

First Print Year: 2010

Number of Pages: 97

Language Turkish