Yarizm

My father, Murtezaali, who had a thick mustache, would wash himself every Thursday and perform a visiting bath. Then, he would put on his cleanest clothes and prepare to go to the cem. After sipping his tea, he would hold my hand and set off with great joy and pride, taking me with him to the cem. Our house and community were in one of the oldest neighborhoods of Tabriz called Serandib. My father's spiritual power in Cem excited me. When the people who say kelam in the cem, that is, the zakir, started to change, I would listen to them with my eyes closed, like everyone else.
Sometimes I would slowly open one of my eyes and want to see what was happening in these moments in the cemetery. The word was spoken and many people, including my father, would cry and beg. It was as if they had lost someone or something. I didn't fully understand what was happening, but I knew something unusual was happening. They constantly warned me at home not to talk about cem and such things at school or anywhere else.
I also learned to keep my mouth shut, and at the youngest age of my life, I realized that we were different from other people. Bards (lovers) used to come to our house. They were my father's friends.
They would sing Asli and Kerem, Köroglu, Shah Ismail epics, asik havas...



Number of Pages: 312

Year of Printing: 2011


Language: Turkish
Publisher: Yurt Kitap Publishing

First Print Year: 2011

Number of Pages: 312

Language Turkish