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A Drop Of Water

If I were
a dropp of water
and
dropp from one roof to another roof
and
if ı were someone
else
and lick
myself

poem by Metin Sahin
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BORNOVA 1983....Five Minutes Past The Spring

ı am stunned
the inspector
nur dogan topaloglu
good for nothing
wrote the report about me
and the minister interior Çetiner
has given the last order
It is my destiny
I am here
like a house
like a hotel
like a guest house
ı t is 1983
the winds of 12 september
are blowing harshly and fiercely
the season is five passed the spring
ı have just made the anniversary 40th of my life
in my hand ı carrieda big white suı t-CASE
in it some books
my suı ts..underwear and my socks stinking
mixed up...like my head
ı say..here is asylum
a mental hospital
you can exaggerate and saY mental house
ma be a mad house
ı does ot matter who says what
ı am at the door
ı have passed my schools steadı ly
did my works obidiently
without protest
damn me if ı wanted a little thing for myself
but ı could not pass this nonesense mental test
do mnot telll my poor mother
she lives alone in our country
she thinks ı am still a mad governor on duty
she does not know ı have been sent here officially
thanks
ı will lie in open section
what would happen if ı lay in the closed sectı on
at detentı on
no hope of goı ng out
seeing the sky
a theatre play was being displayed
when ı stepped in
my new friends
men and women gathered in the hall
sar aronud a wide table
some were comlaı nı g of his wife
some of her husband
and some of their beloved

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poem by Metin Sahin
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I Am A Poet

Iam a poet
ı was born a poet
ı feel that frommy childhood
why the storks
chatter on the chimneys
and nest there
their young beak black
their eggs catch cold in winter
ı am a poet
but sometimes ı am misunderstood
that upsets me
very
sometimes people scold me
why the hell you look at me
strangely
they say
do ı resemble someone
do you recognise me
ı am just a poet
ı cannot say
ı s ı t my fault
to be born poet
ı wanna write a poem about you
so ı look and try to understand
your attitude
why does this bother you
ı was born so
ı watch a little child
leaving her mother
throwing herself to the water shower
in the pool in spring
then ı ask the child to return to mother
cause she is looking eagerly looking AFTER
does not like a stranger
she does not know what a poet is too
and lives plain and direct
ı am a poet
ı wish
ı were not born so
ı long for a humble and simple life
living may be in poverty
cause understands me nobody
even the closest around me

poem by Metin Sahin
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I Am Not In My Mood

I amnot inmy mood today
I do not want to paint the sky
I want to paı nt all the seas and oceans grey
and wanna tear my shı rt ı nto pı eces
how many living sank in the oceans
thge largest being titanic
ı do not want to walk
ı do not waNt to sing
do not want tospeak
ı am not in my mood
got bored of everythimg
especially living
walking...talking speaking
goı n to job in harmony
the returninmg from job
home the same home for years
gossiping the same gossips
reading the same papers
same politics
win to win covered everywhere
who are poor nobody care
lı ke a soldier
figthing the same battle
sitting in the same arm chair
watching the same tv.
reading the same books
swimming the same pool
lyı ng at the same bed
with the same woman
who is she
sometimes ı cannot rfemember
ı have got bored of everything
nothing can soothe me
nothing can heal the state
no mood
no mood
no mood
just stood
like a statue
motı onless
do not want tgo paint the sky blue
ı want to paint the seas
and the oceans grey and stormy
we are becoming
more senseless
much senseless
the most senseless
no light
bewildering in the horı zon
oh lord

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poem by Metin Sahin
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Paul Anka

I put a record or a disc oı ver there...on the old veteran record player...and the disc began to turn byself onthe tı urntable...what a fantacy....look at the music...shattering the room...to my memories...see it...from ancient scratched old and ancientr recorded things....paul ANKA sings in my ears...''I am so young...you are so old..this my darling ı have been told......oh please stay with me diana....and so so so...go record go...take the rust of my ears...the turntable clumsily turns....that takes me to the years...1955 or 1960s....or something later or between.....ı was a student in a boarding school...in istanbul......istanbul..istanbull...there must be a song like this nowadays...in desolate rooms on vacations....the songs of paul were my companı ons to my lonelı hood....ı imagined the seas....lived fancy loves...sung by his songs...but that was in memories....ı was in love with the lady with a big umbrella....yes ı did it my way....under the voices of dean martin...frank sinatra and santana...the magic woman was our secret....while my brother managing the music room and the pı ano....ı wrote humble poems lı ke these...paul was a famous singer then....a boy genı us...world known...years passed so quı ckly....after 38 years in the home affairs..ı retired...become an old poet unknown...but their songs too dissapeared....now we live in a world of internet...and easy hand....my lips cannot sing songs.....teenaging left....ı wönder where were those singers went....thge name of paul anka and pat where do they rest.....april love has been forgotten very soon...we lı ve in a world following spoon...hunger is not satisfied with the spoon...but our souls will need them soon....where have they gone.....their songs appear on my old veteran lazy turntable ancient...ı bought from the flea market...from time to time....come lets listen them...remember our old days...lets sigh a little bit fun

poem by Metin Sahin
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The Petition Scribe

the petı tı on scribe...my dear neı ghbour
ı s the paper on your type-writer blank
wrı te my worrı es and complaı nts word by word and scatter
look....what has happened to me

the worrı es and complaints of someone and another
you scribe from morning till evening
without wearying
how much is your daily gain
how many pennies in your hands and in your palms

first let us write yourself and yours
before the ribbon wears away
after yours finished and complete
ı will tel you mine slowly and slowly

my tonque is on your eyes
ı f you ask something ı will answer orally
my petition does not need any stamp
why stamp and signature on worries and complaints

the paper is a waste
for my worries and troubles papers are insuffı cant
ı envy you..the petition scribe..my dear neighbour
ı would like to be a petition scribe just like you
in this world
and in the other world
for this there is no word
be assure
ı am for sure

Osman ATILLA translatı on Metin Ş AHİ N

poem by Metin Sahin
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To My Mother

Why
you went
and in this
bitter and cruel world
alone me left
was death so beautı ful and your beloved
did you miss it very much
fed up of us
you used to take us
under your skirt
and protect us from rainy days
from everything harmful
is you grave as cold as ice
why did you made it be dug so large
whom are yı ou expecting near as dear
was death so beautı ful mother
why you left us alone
ı t ı s evident
you longed for it
ı was angry
do noyt go do not leave us
pardon me mother
after so many years
ı came to your place
to embrace
may be youare lyiş ng in tears
and of longings
again another december
the day you left
did you remember
your hands were cracked
may be of cold
forgive me moı ther
ı could not afford to buy cream
to soothe them
you gone with your cracked hands
there is alittle ceddar on your grave
who sowed it ı do not know
some kinds of fruı t on it
ı took and smelled
they smelled you mother
ı took some with me to home
they are dried now
my wife does not know
ell me mother
after so many years
are your hands or
your heart are still cracked
tell me how can ı soothe them
or am ı so late to you

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poem by Metin Sahin
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The Blind Couple

I wanna write this poem
with my long black pen
I like this pen very much
ı ts writings
why I cannot understand
my brothers also lı ke the pens too
they are not just pens
they are indstruments brought from heaven
to write your petitions to somebady above
some like it black
some blue
some red
ı always prefer black
why I do not understand
now
GOD informed
at the beginning of the holy book
read....read...read and read again
then comes writing
so ı wanna read the world before writing
universe is not my business yet
look at thgis couple on the pavement
walkı ng cautı ously and care fully
a white long stick in yhe hand of the wife
tapping on the stones
listen to it
a child is in the bosom of the husband
clad clean and neat
you cannat calll them blind
they are walking with the help of god
walking happily
talking happı ly
like singing a hymn
thgey do not need any help
they willl lose lose balance
if you try to help
just watch them
leave them alone
ı try to clean my near sighted eyes
and try to read the far aways
but ı ı nderstand
ı have only read A..B.C..
of the divine alphabet
even them not so easily and clearly
when ı look at this couple
with a child in their bosoms
as their future and hope
ı understand the only
and the bitter truth
they were not blind

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poem by Metin Sahin
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A Man From The Slum District

ı a m a man from a slum district
my pockets are empty and moneyı ess
in obligation
ı am a member of a fake syndicate
in the factory ı work as a laborer
ı f open my mouth
and talk against my bosses
ı will be booted and fired
find myself in the streets
ı am a man nfrom a slum district
my struggle with others is obligatary
to survive
ı drink wine which kills a dog
ı am screaming all night in the streets
against alll these
with the night watches guarding me
ı am a man from a slum district
my badly cladding is also obligatory
in beyoglu
policemen strolling..watching and batoning me
sometimes to death
ı am a man from a slum district
ı f ı touch others' wind they lick me and bruise me
my love affairs are unjust and obligatory too
fathers are on watch in front of their houses
if ı look at a girl or even gaze at their daughters
it will be the cause of the many murders
Yusuf HAYALOGLU.....Translation Metin Ş AHİ N

poem by Metin Sahin
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Lay Down and Die

I'm still standing strong.
You just cant break me.
No matter how hard you try.
I will not lay just lay down and die.
With so many happy endings,
ı just want mine. Your out there,
ı 'm out there.
Can ı t not be any simpler.
Lets get together and
Just have a good time.
For ı ts all we need.
To live ı n harmony.
I'm still standing strong.
You just can't break me.
No matter how you try.
I just won't lay down and die.
With so many happy endings wheres mine.
Don't patronize me by saying everything going to fine.
For ı already know.
So lets get going.
Move with the stars.
The signs are already there.
So don't despair.
The energy ı s already here.
Cherish the moments as they won't be anymore.
I'm still standing strong.
You just can't break me.
No matter how hard you try.
I just won't lay down and die.
With so many happy endings.
Where mine? Getting so far,
Losing all sense of time.
Breaking the rhythm and
How things sync and rhyme.
Just for something new,
Just maybe something very special so ı t seems.
What ı s our destiny?
Its kind of scary.
Are you looking right through me.
I'm still standing strong.
You just cant break me.
No matter how hard you try.
I just won't lay down and die.
Oh oh die, die, die
I wont lay down and die.
With so many happy endings.
Wheres mine? Wheres mine?
All ı want to know ı s where ı s mine?
Huh? Huh? Yeah yeah oh yeahhhhhhhhh.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Aproaching The New...the Unknown

it is not easy to save
or spare the years
itiis a tough business
though
ı have spared and saved so many years
once ı was a baby in a cradle
crying and seeking a refuge
in my mother bosom
then she was in flesh and blood
living beloved
now she is gone and left me alone
fed up with me
resting in her grave
may be a skeleton ı fear and salute
ı have never known father too
thoughmy mother...my father
my sisters and my big brother
always meet
ı n a photocopy
of an ancient..old and faded photograph
my wife put in my sleeping room
my father was a veteran soldier
of our liberatı on war
now ı am grown up
really
becomı ng an old man
a ping pong ball
walking in stalk
sometimes with a walking stick
lost one of my hip
no bosom to cry
with nowhere to shelter
just me and myself
approaching where ı never know
never guess
cause ı have enough of years
when ı remember them each
comes from my heart and eyes
the tears
fearing the new of everything
it is 20 of december
no snow this year
even the season is faking
may be the end we are approaching
for the word
for the universe
or rather for me
never the less
life living worth
some say it is fall

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poem by Metin Sahin
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Seeİ Ng The One Above

WHEN the sun sets
in colors in the evening
ı see him
when the sun rises flickering
in the blue and reds
crimson clouds
then in the darkness
in the glittering stars
in the crescent lit
and in the full moon
and at nights cdesolate without the moon
ı see someone
who holds the reins
never lets anyone die
against his order
ı t must be him
nearest to our main artery
even than ourselves
thus said in thesacred holy koran
when ı wake up ı n the morning
ı see him too
ı nthe walking of an old woman
in life
like my dead mother used to
ı see him
when an old weary woman
rests in front of a mosque
she sees him too
murmuring some prayers
ı see him also in the cry of a child
in the hospitals oozing pains
ı see him
ı hear him
in gazza
in palestine
ı n the wall to weep
in israel
in the fierce endless battle
called war between
in a desolate house
left by owners alone
whera magpie
wanders an the bare branches
of the bare tree in front
in the crfacking of a blackcrow
in the sleeping trees in winter
waking trees in spring
when lambs to young give birth
but we have always
a date with death

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poem by Metin Sahin
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The Last Duty

ı t is two days or three
since with soil we covered thee
we gathered here
in your mother city
from all over the country
may be the unı verse
to perform our last duty
in fact you are doı ng your last duty
perfectly
you gathered friiends together
after so many years
a peculı ar thing too
just notified me
they have cut the lonely poplar
that shoot
from the root
which were a friend to me
my friend in winter
in my loneliness..lonelihood
in my all days on foot
but the plum tree
side by side
very very oldy
has blossomed already
adorned with green leaves
with white flowers as bridals
what a peculı ar thing too
lı fe goes on as always
after the death's gloom
like these
even of my relatives
and dear friends
this year
spring has come a little bit earlier
it is may be
two days or three
we gave to the soı l thee
life for me
a turmoı l though
how many beloved
ı have entombed
..buried
ı do not know
ı cannot remember
waiting his turn
someday someone may be me
will be buried too
you lie in a mosque yard
in the coffin covered with our flag
crimson and white

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poem by Metin Sahin
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Just So God Damn Sweet

Hit that, taste that, just so god damn sweet.
Imagine that. Going ı n the depth of the soul.
Giving up all control.
Becoming a slave to the mined.
No need to justify. Just live ı t as ı t ı s.
No need to worry about ı f you will be satisfied.

Hit that, taste that, just so god damn sweet, ı magine that.
Take a chance, take another glance, being pulled ı n.
Hypnotized and memorized all at the same time.
Stir the perfect blend of just go damn fine fine oh oh fine.

Hit that, taste that, just so god damn sweet.
Imagine that. No more good byes. Here to stay.
Here to lift the spirits so high above the sky.
Coming out of the shadows to bring the sun to your eyes.

Hit that, taste that, just so god damn sweet.
Imagine that. The best moment of all time.
Live ı t then rewind. Do ı t all over again.
Soon or later you'll win.

Hit that, taste that, just so god damn sweet.
Imagine that. I will break free. I will be me.
Its my party. Its my choice. Its my voice.
So sincere, so secure, so strong.
Right where ı belong.

Hit that, taste that, just so god damn sweet.
Imagine that. Today we meet.
What a treat.
First ı mpressions lead to a succession of the best lessons of life.
Hit that, taste that, just so god damn sweet.
Imagine that. Are you ready to meet the real me?

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Poem For Raki (raki Is Turkish Brandy)

thanks GOD
rage and vengeance never conqured me
ı have never thought of being a governor
or a dı plomat
ı have never..never run after elections
this is the world
some goes after his lusts
some struggles for his lı vı ng and to live
but drinking rakı
is another..another world
for comfort yourself
you fill the mug or the little glass of something
and begin to ponder and think
you eat also something
bur rakı does not eat with you
never says do not talk
and do not laugh
but always rakı says the last word
and decides the last decision
if it wants it kills you
if it wants to make you laugh you laugh
if it wants
it darkends or illimunates your inside
if rakı wants
rakı conforts you all
but never the less
it comforts and binds you with a feable decaying rope
some time later
the harsh reality comes in front of you
all your hopes and fancies vanish
and say once a time upon
and the decaying rope splits up in two
you come again
face to face with the harsh reality
Ali TURK KESKIN..translatı on Metin Ş AHİ N

poem by Metin Sahin
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Sneak a Little Lick

Don't...just...
Fuzzy up and cuddle on a peach.
Or sneak up peeping,
When you should be eating!
Every single piece of it!

You can...
Leap up and down behind the scenes.
Screaming about your future,
And...
Destiny!

But don't...
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave.
Don't you,
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave!
Don't,
Sneak a little lick.
Sneak a little lick.
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave!

Leap up and down behind the scenes.
Screaming about your future,
And destiny!

If that's your wish...
To pick it up to ditch!
But,
Don't you...
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave.
Don't you,
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave!
Don't,
Sneak a little lick.
Sneak a little lick.
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave!

Don't...just...
Fuzzy up and cuddle on a peach.
Or sneak up peeping,
When you should be eating!

Don't you...
Sneak a little lick,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Family Homes

everybody's mother is beautiful and brave
but my mother was little bit different
And was at the top of them
she was the bravest...the most beautiful..and the cleverest
we lived in a house
a very very ancient an and old house
ı ts plaster worn out and falling down
once a big and beautiful of our nomad ancestors
the camels of the long caravans used to rest in its garden
now the rooms of the house is rented to families in poverty
the kitchen...and laundry and washing were common for all
there was a in wall cupboard for bath in every room
in one of this rooms upstairs we lived
my mother..my brother and me
hiring it
they called these rooms faqmiliy homes
in turkish
in our homeland in turkey
in one of these rooms
lived shoe maker...rather a cobbler
with his son..daughter and wife
they were our beloved neighbours
he own the the room from his ancestors
the cobbler loved hunting
and had a peculı ar political opinion of his own
at downstairs
ther was a workman
came from his village
a very poor family indeed
wherever he found he worked
if he could
my mother used to help the family
she was found of this very very
one day ı heard the family went to germany
for food and living
my brother and me
were attending to a boarding school in istanbul
we used to come to our family home
in summer vacations
we were very happy in yhose days
with our room neighbours
my brother me and my mother
but theese poor happy did not last long
we grew up
my brother an archaeology professor
me a district governor
but we have never forgotten
those family houses
and the friendship and solı darı ty in them
we remember

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poem by Metin Sahin
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September

IT is september again
the sun is yet high shining
even the lovers
love affairs
seem dead
at the lake side
looks lı ke isolated
desolate
and in solitude
several girls
and women
are lying
awkward
aimless
and clumsily on the sun
baking
all alone
they clutch their cell phones strongly
talk talk talk aND TALK
NOBODY KNOWS
if their cell phones
are their lovers
or their lovers
are their cell phones
faal is
just going to step on the lake
the lake
with mosses
and with weeds
at its sides
fall is
embracing the waist of the summer
a breeze is blowing lightly
is it the sixth or seventh of september
ı cannot guess
it seems
only your and my love
is left on the earth
ı am swimming in the lake
water lukewarm
some gulls
and herons
aproaches me
and lands on the water
to catch fish
sometimes dive
a dog looks at me
the kind you love
and asks me
where you are

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poem by Metin Sahin
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The Old Woman On The Road

why does the old woman
walk on the road
in her hand
a cane or a baton
softly and gently
tapping on the stone
as caressing
slowly and slowly
prone to her destiny
where are her children
where are her grand children
does she sees
enough to look
noone knows
lonely
as a desolate tree
when did they leave her
may be she is goı ng
to the desolate house she used to haunt
she lived with her husband
goı n g to water the flowers
in their garden
but her husband is dead
though she she quarrelled regularly
when he was alı ve
she misses him desperate
why did they leave her
alone
on the road
roads are dangerous
traffı ccı ng the cars
why does this old woman walk
with a cane or a baton
in handslowly..softly...gently
tapping on stone
her looks are even hopeful
never bored of lı fe
on this hour
on this time
why does the old woman
walk on the road
has she escaped from an asylum
or booted from it
ı t is evident
she does not see clearly
she looks like my poor auntie
how old women
look like each other
where are her children
where are her grand children

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poem by Metin Sahin
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Graduation of Christina

A sweet rose in the garden of Arts blushin'
With her colors and brush, she makes the paintings flushin'
And also in Decoratıon, she does it beyond any estimation
Tonight, everyone has to carry for her all the appreciation
in her wonderful ceremony of graduation

And you, Chrıstına, like a bright star in heaven, will be
Da Vıncı, Pıkasso and Angelo, all of them, will see
Yes, tonight, sorrow forsaken, joy and happiness com'on sharin',
photos taken, for your lovely presence took us some beatin'

It's the moment, you wait for so long, will be
Chrıstına, today, I give lots of congratulations to thee
And so many wishes for a brighter future,
you dreamt of someday, will mean to be

poem by Bisho Twp
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Waking On A New Morning

thanks GOD..ı have reached a new..fresh morning
that means...ı am on the world..alive
thanks GOD..ı have reached a new..fresh morning
ı am still dreaming..fancying and in dreams

the harnessed cart on road
the anchored ship at hArbour
all my kins...all my relatives gather together..come together
LOOK.. it is so new..a fresh morning

house on house is weary of the world
the mountains are in their joyous moments
vapour in the glittering eyes
the dead and alive together are walking on the steets

the market is in its motion all day
the false and unnecessary haste wearies everyone
on the world
human beings against it are walking on it shaking

the things you and we know
are the things we call thoughts
we are the water-wheel horses
turning and turning
with blinkers on our eyes
and the fate looking at us in its joyous mood

thanks GOD..ı have reached a new..a fresh morning
that means ı am on the world..living
thanks GOD..ı have reached a new: : , ; . a fresh morning
that means I am also in a dream..dreaming again

Osman ATILLA..Translation Metin Ş AHİ N

poem by Metin Sahin
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