We called them ‘snake-born’.
They called us ‘cannibal’.
But we realized while the war rages on,
both Anzacs and we are heroes.
We throw gifts each other
as hearts get nearer.
We sang song and listen to guitar,
through the two trenches at night in the ceasefire.
And we buried deaths in the ceasefire.
Severed hands, arms and legs…
Whose hand, whose arm is it?
We couldn’t know which one is the right one.
We shared them one by one to per body.
Buried them with one’s limb on the other’s Bodie’s.
Those who swallowed by bombing rubble.
Those who laid down in common graves.
Are now lying as one body and one skeleton.
We are all mixed if anything remains.
Now to separate and to recollect again,
in the presence of God,
conceal the secret of the Day of Judgment at all.
We all mixed with Anzac’s.
Made up your fathers to be united.
Buried our hatred, abandoned them all.
The worth of independence and motherland,
it is we who are as a model taught to Anzac’s.
Both sides lost their generation,
we won two brother-homeland.
Our flowing blood is blended in the ground,
we made each other’s a blood brother
Just you don’t forget the pain of the war,
saying to all of you we were blood brothers.
The arm of one is on the shoulders of other’s
The leg of one is on the knee of other’s
That stocked, combined, lying united…
We declared two cousins from a common ancestor.
No matter how many times world system is changed.
We wish no one upset each other would not come out.
If there is anybody wondering how Gallipoli has…
No trace of bloody, slurry soggy at all.
On the hill of Gallipoli in spring,
instead of bomb, mine, gun, rifle,
field flowers bloom; red, white and blue.
Like saying ‘the white in both of us is
as stainless as our honour’.
Like flag waving by violent autumn wind.
Thousands of waving field flowers
life half of it swim on the water.
It cries out sparkling, brilliant colours,
like saying ‘which one of us is
which one of us is Joe, guess’…
Partridges keep on chuckling, without breaking
like saying ‘Look at proudly, at proudly’…
Old turtles toss each other,
like saying ‘Coming to hand-to-hand fight
what heroes we’ve seen there’…
From ground thyme odour gives out,
like saying ‘I eat once flesh’…
Rabbits come out from holes fearlessly,
like saying ‘Those coming out from here is lion’…
There are no green death flies at all,
but green head lizards go around,
like saying honourably ‘I aet them all’…
Now honey bees, butterflies fly,
from flowers to flowers like hurrying of medics…
Wind of March blows violently,
granules of blown sand
make a hole in leaves like a bullet…
Its voice like saying ‘Now peace!’…
Instead of the dropping nails from the sky,
warm April rain pour down,
like tears of orphans…
As summer comes uncollected olives,
looks from the ground,
like black and green eyes,
once upon a time they are slightly ajar…
Cicadas sing ‘call, call, call’,
like saying us those who have gone…
When drought comes the meadows
turn yellow like John’s hair…
Either brother or unique form,
like ones is the previous of others…
When Autumn comes the meadows
Change colour to the black one like Mehmet’s hair…
Sky get rank to the sergeant…
The birds flying at the sky march to the heaven,
like those innocent souls…
The yellowed leaves of trees,
fluttered down with joyfully,
like saying ‘the place where I lying is glorious!’…
As the death of winter comes,
snow cover at the sad hills of Gallipoli,
like their mother’s noble milk…
Branches and logs tossed to the shore,
as the sea once swallowed and rejected.
Like saying ‘Take and burn them away to the ashes,
don’t let the wooden horse get out of it’…
Hereafter the Gallipoli is the medallion of the peace,
like saying ‘Peace at home, peace in the world!’
WRİTTEN BY ÖZGÜR EKER AND TRANSLATED TO ENGLİSH BY AYHAN ÇAKIR.
(NUTUK Sayfa(page) 431)
“Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives … You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore, rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets(Turkish soldiers) to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours … You, the mothers who sent their sons from faraway countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.”
MUSTAFA KEMAL ATATÜRK