Sibel Yalçın Destanı ingilizcesi...
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Gönderi 1
Bayram yazdı22 Ekim 2009, 09:36'da
The Epic Poem of Sibel Yalçın, The Turkish little girl, a True Legendary Story...
She is only 18, in the youthfull period of her life, the death is stil too far for her age. Hope is with her, happiness is with her, future is with her. To stream the flag of virtue, at the age of 18, at the youthfull period of her life, she fallows her yearning filling her heart full of hope. Our kids grow up so fast. A resistance fighter at the age of 16, then a hero at the age of 18, such wise, such intellectual. 7 different colours of the sky in their eyes. İstanbul wakes up in one june morning. A fresh spring air covers the streets. İstanbul wakes up with the victory slogans of a little girl, Sibel. This revival, this slogan, this scream, people notice this voice, from hundreds of years past. They recognize it from the Anatolian villages. It was the Che Guevara’s voice coming today from the past. Like how a mother protects her children from harms, like how a pigeon claps for its kiddies, she guards her comrades like this. In her yeast, there is faithfulness, there is self-sacrifice in her ferment. She sacrifices her life unhesitantly for the ones who watch her. Because, she is the daughter of sacrifising generation. She walked along fire circle many times, she tested her heart in fight so many times, then she handled this weight on her shoulders like this. She retreats while fighting, too many shanty houses on her way, the streets bloom while she is fighting, eyes open out their coverings, ‘come in’ says the eyes, ‘here is a bulwark, a motherland for you’. They caress the back of Sibel. The ones that turn tears in eyes and flow out. The ones that we ask to 4 seasons, 7 climates. The ones whom we love more than our lives. They whisper her ears, ‘call them to account for having done those’. ask them the reason why once we have been thrown out to forests? ask them the reason of corruptions. ask them the reason of getting a hand caught in a machine, ask them the reason of the bodies that were shootted. they give strenght, they become the fresh blood for her veins although they know it will flow. we have never surrendered. Che Guevera has never given in against fascists. it is not written in any history books. We have never permitted cruelty. We die like a passionate of hunger for history, but, we never allow the exploitation. You, the mothers who lost their children... You, the people who go to street after the dawn and are all in a muck and dust... You, the people who cultivate thier farms with great efforts... You, the people who spend thier days in dark cellars at the cost of a slice of bread... You, the workers and the proletarians, kiss and hug this photo of sibel as a homeland.
She is only 18, in the youthfull period of her life, the death is stil too far for her age. Hope is with her, happiness is with her, future is with her. To stream the flag of virtue, at the age of 18, at the youthfull period of her life, she fallows her yearning filling her heart full of hope. Our kids grow up so fast. A resistance fighter at the age of 16, then a hero at the age of 18, such wise, such intellectual. 7 different colours of the sky in their eyes. İstanbul wakes up in one june morning. A fresh spring air covers the streets. İstanbul wakes up with the victory slogans of a little girl, Sibel. This revival, this slogan, this scream, people notice this voice, from hundreds of years past. They recognize it from the Anatolian villages. It was the Che Guevara’s voice coming today from the past. Like how a mother protects her children from harms, like how a pigeon claps for its kiddies, she guards her comrades like this. In her yeast, there is faithfulness, there is self-sacrifice in her ferment. She sacrifices her life unhesitantly for the ones who watch her. Because, she is the daughter of sacrifising generation. She walked along fire circle many times, she tested her heart in fight so many times, then she handled this weight on her shoulders like this. She retreats while fighting, too many shanty houses on her way, the streets bloom while she is fighting, eyes open out their coverings, ‘come in’ says the eyes, ‘here is a bulwark, a motherland for you’. They caress the back of Sibel. The ones that turn tears in eyes and flow out. The ones that we ask to 4 seasons, 7 climates. The ones whom we love more than our lives. They whisper her ears, ‘call them to account for having done those’. ask them the reason why once we have been thrown out to forests? ask them the reason of corruptions. ask them the reason of getting a hand caught in a machine, ask them the reason of the bodies that were shootted. they give strenght, they become the fresh blood for her veins although they know it will flow. we have never surrendered. Che Guevera has never given in against fascists. it is not written in any history books. We have never permitted cruelty. We die like a passionate of hunger for history, but, we never allow the exploitation. You, the mothers who lost their children... You, the people who go to street after the dawn and are all in a muck and dust... You, the people who cultivate thier farms with great efforts... You, the people who spend thier days in dark cellars at the cost of a slice of bread... You, the workers and the proletarians, kiss and hug this photo of sibel as a homeland.
Gönderi 2
Bayram yazdı07 Kasım 2009, 04:21'da
Gönderi 3