The Fire Night
I wore the fire night
fires sorrounded and covered İ STANBUL
I was alone...I was poison..I was poisonous
and all my bridges were blown up
ı sank my ships with my own bare hands
İ stanbul was burning
suffocating and suffocating
you were in blazes
you were burning
your screams
ı could never forget
your hair was in blazes..burning
fire reached to my lips
noone saw the fires
noone afforded a dropp of water to estinguish
you were a hell burning
istanbul was a hell..burning
and me an old hell...burning
my poems began to scream
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poem by Metin Sahin
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Life Is Poem
to me life is a poem............maybe a child's singing and crying.....sometimes......when I wake up........I go to a park.......in my leisure.......though I am alwayss leisured by life......I sit on a desolate bank.....look around...what I see.......The sparrows eating our troubles......hopping around........to me.......they are the hopping champions of life......easing our troubles....when there is a sparrow.....there must be a life...of some how.....some what....I watch the people by passing......there is the blind couple.....with their white white long stick....tapping....ı t is a music played ı n pavement stones....composed by them....listen to it....sometimes a black crow crows....writing his black poem, , , , , , tearing our ear drums....to me life is poem......the crying of the living...good or bad....ı wish....I had written this piece...like a child.....they are my beloved ones and friends...who me only understands...and write poem s best........
poem by Metin Sahin
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Do You Remember When
do you remember when
you have stepped your first step towards life
and when you first screamed
comı ng face to face with it
when you had your first beloved
do you remember
when you had seen the first blues of the seas
when first swam in the sea
do you remember
when you f irst saw the storks on chimneys
and the young black beaks
and when you worrı ed for their eggs
not to be frozen in winter
do you remember the day
you lost your father
and your relatives and friends
do you remember
the first blooming red roses
and their thorns
when you heard a nightingale
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poem by Metin Sahin
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We And Our Old World
how good it is..how lucky
coming to the world..coming to the earth all of us
who could have erected the skyscrapers to drill the sky
on the geREEn plains, on the meadows and on greenery
who could have burnt the the woods, the forests for fun
who could have made the sewage flow into the clean seas and clean oceans?
if we were not on this world, on this earth
who could have deteriorate the gas ozone balance
who and who?
who could have make the devil
put his shoes on wrong
and the orphanages
they would be empty
if we were lackings
without us
what would do the prostı tutes and the bitches
and the jail guards in jails
what would they do if we were not in them
and the hired guns
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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
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poem by Metin Sahin
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Comparison
sometımes
I recall the best expert poet yahya kemal
of the OTTOMANS
I see him in a window-shop
obesse and unhealthy
and..why I do not know
at the same time
I remember suddenly
The lame poet BYRON
struggling and dying on the GREEK MOUNTAINS
That is not a thing may be to be proud of
But I.in an haste drilled and went out of
my ten years of my imprısonment
and leaving my liver ache aside
my bosom is the same bosom
and my mind is still the same mind
we are alone even when we lie with our beloved
with dear ones side by side
but when we are left all alone and completely lonely
the crowd of the unıverse
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poem by Metin Sahin
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A Woman
this must be a woman
, she is supposed to be an old woman
in her ragged..printed cotton cloth..plain...cheap
but clean
she is carryı ng something in her big heavy sack
on shoulder
it must be valuable for her
what is it
no one knows
no one guesses
but it must be something
she is weary of carrying...may be her life
but what is it
how old is she
spring is near..ahead
some trees are early blossommed
look at the plum tree over there
in her bridal
the woman looks at some dry bushes
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poem by Metin Sahin
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Famine
Jackal..howled with a long breath into the air
and wove into the night its voice like a tolling knell
wavering from the mountains onto the plains
it is a few days away entering june
fading yellow rubbed its back against the ears of the wheats
dropping them from their long..lean stems
the water once flowing in abundance with high noise
which ground the wheat into flour went somewhere and
diminished from the water ways
the milk of the mountain fig lost
the dog grass did not grow hid themselves in their roots
the white meat of the shah cock weighing many kilos
exhausted and melted itself own
till down
for the first time
a faded ear of wheat in the middle of the plain
saw far awaythe rainless approaching white cloud
at the pinkish dawn
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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
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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
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poem by Metin Sahin
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