Yildiz Çakar

If you could, I would ask for a homeland
When the sound of rain reaches to the snowy slopes
When loneliness becomes a node and grows in the chest
When your steps move in emptiness and make you regret, life!
And when you want to return for a couple of word, some jokes, a cup of tea, a cup of coffee
With green-red clothes, under the flag of independence, right here, by the river of Tigris 
And when you want to say “children will not die anymore on their mothers’ lap, 
And when you want to say “all the doors of the city are open from four parts of the heart”
And when you want to say “I’ve laid a seed to the ground”
The fire of Nawrouz is alive in twelve month on the castle 
Yes, I would ask you for a homeland
When the sound of rain reaches the snowy slopes,
When the pain becomes a hidden enemy, and grows in the chest, and grows
When your eyes are looking for someone in the streets of Amed, and when life makes you regret it!
And when you want to return, a return for a kiss, few sentences from a point, some deserts, a walk and a heart 
Yes, fromPeyas till DereCiye, you’ve come with rough steps, you walked, and walked 
Like a raindrop, like softness of the willow, like before the hurricane 
Before Amed
Acorn, 
Missing in distance, 
Someone, someone alone, 
Maybe, 
Far from you in two steps, and deep to you in three 
If you could, I would ask for a homeland
From a foreigner, in front of iron flowers, a wave of pain and a handful salt
Not shedding, not raining, not moaning,
do not moan alone and do not moan by Cizrawi’s voice, it is night, homesickness, and it is rain!
I knowpoem is anunsharp hatchet, on my life’s core!
I want a rupture, a scream, a sieve, 
That much wishing for a homeland, 
Not shedding, not raining, it is moaning,
do not moan alone and do not moan by the sound of an antique, pain, you and I!
If you could, I would ask you for a homeland,
When the sound of rain reaches the snowy slopes
When loneliness becomes a node and grows in the chest, grows itself
When a poet sits before “dawudi”
And design barren words, one by one
At one noon, quiet, quiet, with the possibility of you to come back to Amed
When you do not hear the voice of creatures and the creators, 
When the sound of bowl of Suse’s water 
does not ring out again in Mergehmet, 
When the water does not flush by your foot, 
Right here, at this foothold, behind the tree
When you sit and do not stare at me, 
That much begging for a breath 
All the wedding dresses of burned town too…
If you could, I would ask for a homeland, 
I do not know how long you have been here, 
At this morning, an anger carried its tent, 
Arm to arm, embers fall down from the heart!
A circle from sand, a people from water, a circle from heart,
Now you dig my finger…
I do not know how my finger is more determined than my heart.
Search it for me, where I lost my heart.
I do not know if you have ever listened to the night, or the song of snow bird
Have you ever hosted your own life in your bossom, with your bloody body, bare feet? 
Have you ever knitted the difference of walnut and fig? 
Have you ever walked under the rain that reaches the snowy slopes, without fear…
Pings, sharpening the blades
And how the witnessing of walls is simple to you!
Tell me, someone!
Poor! 
When he says “I am dying, dying by a door”!
My need is a homeland, without border, without border, some soil, some tulips
Red, yellow, green from the white of eyes, 
Why your funny words hit the mountains! Why sorrow becomes peace at nights
Why the night slowly falls upon me, wistful, why it names the lyrics
And one by one bows the heads before the feet. 
Oh missing, missing that arises from the pockets of hearts, from days, from notebooks, from homesickness… 
Skein was growing, rain was turning into black, missing was surprising 
The pain was becoming ordinary, a simple word. 
And if you could, I would ask you only for one thing, 
Can your hand’s foam be my gift? 
I will take my left eye for the unity 
How simple the streets words to you, the suburbs of basil, fabricated poppies, 
Empty goblets, full ashtrays, burned dreams, sand, soil
Do you know that no warmer nest than the soil? 
And no colder nest than the soil! 
If you could, I would ask you for a homeland,
Besides the name, surname and a crown…