THE
STEPCHILDREN OF ALLAH
We, the ones carrying
their own perpetrators in their hearts.
We, the stepchildren of
Allah, the ones who are never backed up…
We, the ones participating
in the life like a desolate river;
the ones being unstitched from
all over their bodies, the ones enduring everything…
We, the ones with ripped
out buttons, without beach chair, without wine;
we, the silk worms fired
from their nests…
We, the unknown and black
ones…
We, the passengers, the
oppressed ones, the ones without arbor;
we, the cool county cafes
waned under the sun…
We, the ones hiding in the
echo of the patience
in the charm of the light
and the word.
We, the ones having no
street except their voices,
having no homeland except
their dreams…
We, the ones having bath under
the rain without umbrella,
the ones being burned, the
ones complaining…
We, the cursed persons,
the others;
we, the ones singing folk
songs!
We, the exiles, the ones
without cerement;
We, the lengthy songs of
the idler days,
We, who never obey!
All barrels are proper for
us.
Crucifixes and graveyards
are proper for us;
the loneliness is proper
for us…
We, the bad news being
announced to the city
We, all ones who had died
but haven’t been buried…
We, the ones on whose
destiny roses don’t bloom…
We were a voice in those
voices once upon a time
Its echo has choked; its
prompting is a lie.
We fell down in those
dreams once upon a time too.
We are the questions which
got their answers stolen…
We are the questions which
got their answers stolen!
YILMAZ ODABASI
(Kurdish poet from Turkey)
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