I pick up thrown stones
instead of roses. At dawn I walk
over broken glass to the gallows
barefoot, heartbroken
but forthrigt, without bowing.
Do not avert your glance
from my passion.
My quivering body is witness
to the fear. It is a long walk
I know. The cinders beneath my feet
are burning, they are the soil.
I wear a shirt of fire.
Let your attention water my voise.
I am picking up thrown stones
insted of hope. Constantly bleeding
is my heart. I wish my vessel of sorrow
were full. I wish I walked in the garden
of words like Pir Sultan.1
I have been picking up these thrown Stones
since Spartacus.2
Every love is an Ebabil.3
Bad words are like bullets.
I am again crucified.
My only life is with you
in the past. To escape this fear
the whistle of memory trills on.
Sorrow’s poison cannot kill,
hope is born of you.
Oh! My heart carry me!
Translated by: M. Ali Sulutas
Edited in English by: Susan Bright
1 Pir Sultan Abdal: A 16th Century revulutionary poet; leader of the rebellions against the unjust, oppressive and cruel Sultan of that era. He was arrested, stoned and later hung by Ottoman Governor Hizir Pasha. While he was stoned, one of his loved friends was throwing him roses instead of stones. He was offended nevertheless. Two verses of his poem he wrote relate to this event: “Dropping down over my head like the rain / Most hurting me are the roses thrown on me by my best friend.”
2Spartacus: The revolutionary and fearless leader of the first slave uprising in history happened in the Roman Empire. He was captured in the year of 71 BC by the Roman General Pompeus and later executed.
3Ebabil: A bird resembling a swalllow as mentioned in the Holy Koran. Legend says that these birds, carrying stones with their beaks, were sent over the soldiers of Ebrehe, the tyrant Governor of Yemen and the entire army of Governor was killed by stones dropped down by the birds.
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