Pazarýn sonunda çöpleri deþer, Caminin önünde geleni bekler, Suriyeli olmuþ inan derbeder, Dilenip el açar bunlarda insan.
08.02.2016//KIRIKKALE HÝDAYET DOÐAN
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HUMAN IN THESE ...
If the strange dies in the house, nobody hears it, Relative siblings don’t call and ask, There is no one who visits during the feast, It is strange that these people at home.
Her children in her warm home, I am strange sleeping on the ground, He does not put unprofitable children in his house, People lie on the roads.
He gives his salary to the nursing home, Every day he pays tribute to the Principal, It has its secret to tongues as soon as it falls, They shed tears in these people.
The nights are long, the mornings don’t come, A person who is not full does not sleep, Open full, believe that he does not know, People die of pain.
Washing dishes every day, Uncles are sick and take them away, His bread from the grocery store and the water from the lake, People cannot get out of bed.
In winter it rains and the roof flows, He collects the garbage and burns it in the stove, If his pipe doesn’t smoke, their souls take off, People die of smoke.
At the end of the market he digs the garbage, Waiting for those who come in front of the mosque, Believe he was a Syrian, People beg and open their hands.
08.02.2016 // KIRIKKALE HÝDAYET DOÐAN
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(c) Bu şiirin her türlü telif hakkı şairin kendisine ve/veya temsilcilerine aittir.