flying in the mountains to the mountains

freedom in between the bird's beak

drop by drop presented

the wind is blowing reddish hair

of the pine trees

eyes are gravel at the horizon

at the tides of life

with undaunted hearts

running around from the plains

as if clawing our ears

Buzzards are screaming

bastards have laid an ambush

and played irrational games which never came to mind

deadlocks and mistakes

how many more times will suffer

human dignity how many?

if escapes from the linseed garden

fresh bodies will be saved from being sold

I will write if I catch

a vagrant poem

galloping and throwing javelin in my brain.



Poem by: Attila Elüstün 03.05.2011 Şişli/İstanbul

Translation by: Günsel Djemal 03.05.2011 London