To my wrongs and to my rights,
To my beloveds and to my non-beloveds,
To those I shared life with and to those I couldn't,
And to all my students do I dedicate all my poems


Nesrin ZYAYCI


You

With the light you sent
From your country in where the sun never sets
Enlighted my county of dark, in distance.


A bombardment of Love


As a local woman of Earth, my universal identity,
All I wish is a bombardment of love
To every single point of immaculate universe
And to the peace-odoured breath of the fighting world.
A bombardment of love to come down is what I wish,
From the sky to the earth, just like a twine
As though pouring from a glass,
A bombardment of love to come down is what I wish.

(As Afghanistan is getting bombed...)



IM THE WOMAN FROM THE WORLD

I was born in Africa, in the midst of the desert.
I was barefoot, I walked on my feet burning.
I grew up, sprinkled, gave birth there,
I wore circular earings,
Wooden bracelets around my arm.

On my head I carried the time.
Wandered in Asia, wounded in Middle East.
I kept love in my mind, in my heart
I become high exalting everything.
I am the woman from the world.

In Africa,
I made magics, lost my control by the incences.
Travelled in India, reached up to Far East,
I sometimes dropped in Europe,
I discovered America the lattest.
I found love in Afghanistan
Lived a massacre in Palestina.
In the east of my country, in the south-east,
I grew green with snowdrops.

I cant forget anything I lived.
On the wrinkled map of the Earth
Im the woman from the world.


THE LOVE AND THE LIGHT

First nothingness is born
It gives birth to two children all of a sudden;
The Night and the Endless depth.

The universe;
Remains as loneliness and space;
silence and eternity
Love;
Is born from the darkness and the death.
The Light and the lights friend make the day,
The earth is created.
The Earth
with the Mother create the sky.

It seems,
The Love and the Light
Are born to the Earth together.
They make love;
And have childeren then.

(written with the influnce of Greek Mythology )


An Antep Tale..
It was the 17th of December in 1918,
The English were in Antep..

It was the 23rd of January in 1919,
you could smell the fear of war,
you could smell the shoes of the enemies.

The Armenians from Antep
were the allies of the French.
You couldn't differenciate either the friend or the enemy of yours.
The days were cold, extremely cold...

Eleven months were frozen on the pages of the calender.
There existed The cruelty, the Torture, and starvation...
The city was the heap of the ashes and ruins.
Sehitkamil didn't let them open the cover of his mother.
He told ''the honour.'', and he was shot.
Sahinbey gave his soul for the sake of independence.
The grapes were dried in their trays.

My grandma was in the cave of hers,
made the flour of hers from the seeds of the wild-apricots,
fed her children,
forgot her aridity,
for the sake of honour
for the sake of her territory,
She met with death...
It is the year 2005.
The siege is over.
There are films on the Prestige Movie.
There is no Nak?p Ali anyway,
water were dried...
Alleben is flowing sadly,
The scenarios are being written in the five starred hotels.
My grandpa is sending his tears from his blue eyes, from the grave of his.
My country is just about to be a colony of the other countries.
Wake up ?ahin, look! What's going on on these territories!
For the sake of the history of the Zeugma,
For the sake of the drama of the bride Ezo,
For the sake of the melodies of the Barak,
For the sake of the names of mer As?m Aksoy, Onat Kutlar and lk Tamer,
Now would you please tell me Gaziantep, the city of the epics,
tell me slowly,
Who is now trying to be the owner of you?

(In memory of Gaziantep Independence Day, December 25th, 2005)



PRAYER FOR THE RAIN

It hasnt rained in this city
Since youre gone

Forgotten how many seasons passed,
Havent looked out of the window
At the olive-eyed child who walks along the road
with his bread in his hand.
Havent heard the voices of the birds
When the lilacs were emigrating from here.
Forgotten all the looks full of love
Been staying in the season you left


Winters have come and passed,
I have been cold.
Summers have suffocated me;
I have left leaves in autumns.
Only for once spring has never come to this city,
Deep dark clouds have been wandering above my head,
No rain.
My dreams havent green in me in the mornings.


Like the children drawing red snow on papers,
Im waiting for colorful rain
Which would come from the dark clouds
In front of your eyes
And make me soak wet.

If spring comes to this city again,
If the sky roars one more time
While walking without an umbrella,
With the water which comes in from my torn shoes,
And make my childish dreams soak to the skin
Im praying for the rain.

No matter if the moon is April,
If it doesnt make me completely wet,
In my desert heart,
Come on rain!


March 17th, 2004



THE NIGHT WITH NO ONE

A woman at the train station,
Its three am,.
Among the disentegrated, barefoot feelings,
And desperate good-byes,
She was saying farewell to someone.


In her own, all alone.
About to cry she was, her looks full of sorrow,
The darkness couldnt cover her pain inside
The moonlight was touching her tears.
Obvious it was that her past was bleeding inside.
Without no one, on her own
She was thrilled, at the station
In the hottest of August.


Nesrin