نجوم الليل تهبط لتسكن شعرك الابيض يا أمى اغنية الفجر لاحمد كايا ♥ The Dawn Song Dont search for me here Dont search Mom Dont ask my name at the door The stars have fallen on your hair Dont snatch them Mom, dont cry I waited long since with a shaved face, My eyes on the dawn While my hands are stretched, my ears are on the beam I missed the death, Mom While I wanted madly to live Ah.. I wish I could have given a country filled with boys and girls from tip to toe as a present to each mother whose heart runs in her palms Unbounded with my dreams Young with my insistence Child with my amazement, when I was passing it out to my confident A bud opened quietly on my cheek Think about Pir Sultan, Mom, about Şeyh Bedrettin About Börklüce, about Torlak Kemal Think about the people Mom Think so that your heart takes a swing Think so that at that moment, a happy dragonfly rises That believes in the good days. Dont search for me here Dont search Mom Dont ask my name at the door The stars have fallen on your hair Dont snatch them Mom, dont cry So, my beautiful Mom Instead of flying the stars in my countrys colourful dawn, I drank my own wry blood while sitting within the stars What a strange feeling this dying is The girls I kissed are coming to my mind When I was going to the gallows tree, there is surely an explanation of that. In the back, on the table, destitute, The paper and the pen stayed. Forgive me, my beautiful Mom For not writing a letter with the taste of a son. Dont get angry at me I didnt want his hands to touch I didnt want his eyes to touch You were going to cry and smell And maybe carry it in your arms for a lifetime The pain of living was hanged on my neck Whereas I wanted to live like the taste of folk songs To die is a strange thing, Mom! Id like to steal the feast from the captivity of feast cards And give it to the hands of the children In a box decorated with pearls And then, then my beautiful Mom Id like to fall in love with a girl like falling from the roof I have stood on the edge of the night Theres no pocket on the shroud I have filled stars in my arms Run children run The morning is coming upon me In short, my beautiful Mom No more shivering when I think about a flower No more laughing, hoping, longing Or waiting for a letter With laying my eyes to the distance To die is a strange thing, Mom! From now on, I cannot write puzzled, hopeful poems Like bleeding the walls with my fingernails. I cannot fix my eyes on the ceiling with an absolute faith I cannot be a father, for example To turn into earth is a strange thing, Mom To die is a strange thing, Mom! The cliffs, which builds up in you, The mountain, which collapses in you. I say feast, say flower, I say cones that spread their wings to the bottom of pine. It looks like a child with rose-pink cheeks. Yet, losing your son is a strange thing, Mom. Its me who dies in every fight. Each woman holding flag and clashing Gives birth to me While clawing the earth. I am the yearning, I am the fight, I am the love Wait for me, Mom One morning, I happen to come One morning, Mom, one morning When you open the door to brush your pain away Many of my peers Whose names are different, whose voices are different With flowers in their arms Bring a new country within flowers
Posted on: Mon, 22 Dec 2014 07:08:10 +0000
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