Poems of Mehmet Orhan (Türkiye)

THE FINAL TURN
Mehmet Orhan (Türkiye)

Even if the nightingale sings, we do not hear it.
Even if a letter is missing, we do not see it.
Even if trade increases, we do not know it.
We neither buy nor sell.
We have no profit left.


Even if they call us lonely,
Even if they call us old and sick.
There is no one coming or going.
Let them say the light has gone out,
And the hearth has gone cold.
We neither eat nor drink.
We have no strength left.


There is neither cow nor ox in the barn.
There is neither wheat nor flour in the storehouse.
There was an old wife,
She too died last year.
We neither laugh nor cry.
We have no remedy left.


There is no one left to sow the fields.
There is no one left to yoke the oxen to the plough.
There used to be someone who came to sit and visit;
Now that person is gone too.
We are neither dead nor alive.
We have no sense left.


In those days, we would go to bed,
And at daybreak, we would rise.
We carried our loads upon our own backs.
We crossed mountains and rocky paths barefoot.
We neither tired nor grew weary.
We have no life left.


Our ears do not hear; our eyes do not see.
The hearth does not burn; the chimney gives no smoke.
Not even someone to ask after us, not even a greeting remains.
In this world,
We have nothing left to do.


“What is your name, dear soul?
Are you a poet?
Aren’t you our Beekeeper Mehmet?
Your back is bent, your hair has turned white;
There is hardly anything left by which to recognize you.
We neither gained nor gave.
We have no money left at all.”


“If you are going to die, then die now;
But give us a beehive first.
Possessions are an illusion; property is an illusion.
What did we do, what did we gain?
We have no friendship left.”


Let this be my final call to you.
If it is about humanity, I am still here.
Whether it is peace or struggle,
I am ready for either.
What did we sow, what did we reap?
There is no life left in our veins.


Just look, just look—
This year even our fountain has dried up.
Mulberries, apricots, apples...
God is my witness, there is not a single one.
We were neither lords nor pashas.
Our name has been erased;
No trace of us remains in history.



A SONG WRITTEN FOR PEACE
Mehmet Orhan

Neither anyone’s young sons,
nor anyone’s innocent children,
nor the mothers’ tears that never cease...
Let no child’s dreams be buried in the earth.


Let the sun not be held captive
by clouds carrying oppression.
On these lands,
once again,
and once again...


Let hope, not death,
knock on the doors of innocent homes;
let only the scent of bread and love
rise from the hearths.


If this is what it means to live;
to live like a tree in the forest,
side by side, as brothers...
To breathe beneath the same sky,
to plant hope in the same soil,
to drink handfuls of water
from the same spring.


To share bread at the same table,
to keep the fire of the same hearth burning,
to awaken to a morning
of a thousand springs,
where hunger is forgotten
and children learn only how to smile.


Let us follow
the true people of courage.
Let a new world be built
where songs of brotherhood rise to the sky,
where weapons fall silent,
consciences speak,
and humanity blossoms once again.


May the roads we walk
be filled with peace, harmony, and unity.
May Truth rise like the sun,
and may justice flow
as clear as water.
May peace stand guard
at the threshold of every door
for a lifetime.


Let olive saplings be planted
along every border,
and let swallows carry hope
into the sky.
Let children run only
after their kites,
and let mothers cry only
at weddings, from joy.


Let one human being
be the hand that heals another’s wound;
let the Earth remain
the common home of love.
Let all hearts gather
around this table of love.


May Kovan Eri’s pen
write the most beautiful peace.
Let there be roses in our hands,
and a song of brotherhood upon our tongues.
Let one human being
be hope for another.


May our hearts never be divided,
may our love never diminish;
may peace be
the destiny written upon these lands.