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Poem

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IN THE WHISTLING ROOMS

So not to leave you alone
even from your grave I rush back home.

In the whistling rooms
I talk I talk I talk.

I came from afar, morning dew on my lips
Saying don’t be childish you draw back your lips.

Then I raise my eyes, the window’s not there
Dead children like eye lashes lined up.

Can you grow ashamed of your sorrow
I’m poisoned by the tears I’ve spilled.

it’s too late for us you said once, how will all these children
live in this country, the womb of death.

In a village near Antakya, our hearts full of love
Surrounded by such blessings who would think of death.

Come, let us go down to the sea
In her arms the blue will rock our fears to sleep.

I’m a lonliness for two before your photos
One, the one you take with you, the other, the one you leave.

ISLIK ÇALAN ODALARDA

ISLIK ÇALAN ODALARDA

Seni yalnız bıraktım diye
Mezarından bile koşarak geliyorum eve.

Islık çalan odalarda
Konuşuyorum konuşuyorum konuşuyorum.

Uzaktan gelmişim, ağzımda sabahın çiy taneleri
Çocuklaşma diyerek çekiyorsun ağzını.

Sonra kaldırıyorum başımı, pencere değil
Sıralı kirpikler gibi çocuk ölüleri.

İnsan acısından utanır mı
Döktüğüm yaşlarla zehirleniyorum.

Bizden geçti de, demiştin, hepsi ölümün rahminde
Bu çocuklar nasıl yaşayacaklar bu ülkede.

Antakya’dayız, Vakıflı Köyü’nde kalbimizi seviyoruz
Bu iyilik içinde kimin aklına gelir ölüm.

Deniz kıyısına gidelim haydi
Mavi, göğsünde uyutur biraz korkumuzu.

İki kişilik bir yalnızlığım fotoğraflarının önünde
Birisi alıp götürdüğün, öteki bırakıp gittiğin.
Close

IN THE WHISTLING ROOMS

So not to leave you alone
even from your grave I rush back home.

In the whistling rooms
I talk I talk I talk.

I came from afar, morning dew on my lips
Saying don’t be childish you draw back your lips.

Then I raise my eyes, the window’s not there
Dead children like eye lashes lined up.

Can you grow ashamed of your sorrow
I’m poisoned by the tears I’ve spilled.

it’s too late for us you said once, how will all these children
live in this country, the womb of death.

In a village near Antakya, our hearts full of love
Surrounded by such blessings who would think of death.

Come, let us go down to the sea
In her arms the blue will rock our fears to sleep.

I’m a lonliness for two before your photos
One, the one you take with you, the other, the one you leave.

IN THE WHISTLING ROOMS

So not to leave you alone
even from your grave I rush back home.

In the whistling rooms
I talk I talk I talk.

I came from afar, morning dew on my lips
Saying don’t be childish you draw back your lips.

Then I raise my eyes, the window’s not there
Dead children like eye lashes lined up.

Can you grow ashamed of your sorrow
I’m poisoned by the tears I’ve spilled.

it’s too late for us you said once, how will all these children
live in this country, the womb of death.

In a village near Antakya, our hearts full of love
Surrounded by such blessings who would think of death.

Come, let us go down to the sea
In her arms the blue will rock our fears to sleep.

I’m a lonliness for two before your photos
One, the one you take with you, the other, the one you leave.

Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère