To My Son Mehmet...

TO MY SON MEHMED…
I PRESENT OUR HOUSES
They call that box with holes across from them a house
Human beings eat and drink here
And do even stranger things.
Most of these are shameful things that are not said
Our houses are covered.
And all poets look at the sky through the windows
But the tops of bird nests are open.
And birds do not write poems.

I PRESENT OUR TREES TO MY SON MEHMED
They call that green ball a tree
It grew in our hands like you
But it neither soiled its bottom Nor coughed.
We brought these trees from distant forests.
Their fruits are poisonous

Their branches are covered in thorns,
Their roots would be gnawed by moles
We took care of these trees like children, my grandson
They did not withhold anything from us
They did not skip a season
They did not hide a harvest
One day we built our houses in their shadows
We put swings on their branches
We had chirping birds haunt their nests
When we die, we forgive the trees
They say "Bravo" in their own language

Bedri Rahmi EYÜBOĞLU