My God Is Black. Hıdır Eren Çelik

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      They all

      cried for help

      in German, in Turkish

      The policeman

      at the airport

      heard the cries…

      The people on the streets

      in the factory

      in the ministries

      those who command there

      heard the cries …

      Yet no one gave a helping hand

      They cried for help

      in German, in Turkish

      The politicians heard the cries

      but no one replied…

      Then spoke the

      Immigration Act

      They shouted for help

      but no one listened …

      In the newspapers

      pictures of little girls

      crying women

      deported fathers …

      Sad Germany

      was behind them

      Painful, dark

      Germany

      broken hearts

      shrilling screams

      they left behind

      Oh, my wounded heart

      be calm and silent, do not cry …

      cry

      no one can hear

      My little one

      cry

      don´t you ever …

      When in a country

      same as Germany

      no one hears you cry

      cry … not

      My tearful mother

      do not cry

      the tears of your eyes

      which wet the earth

      no one will dry

      The day will come

      when I return

      When in a country

      similar to Germany

      the time will come

      and the Germans

      hear your cries

      so I promise you

      that will be the time

      when I return

      to You

      forever and ever

       Munzur

      Munzur …

      oh Munzur

      my wounded falcon, my darling

      how shall I declare my longing

      my heart´s grief

      express my unfinished song

      While the blood from my

      wounded heart

      mixes with your stream

      and waters faraway lands

      how shall I portray?

      That three days and three nights

      I was hanging at the gallows

      that I was shot in the Las valley?

      Munzur

      oh Munzur

      my companion for life, my homeland

      how should I express

      that I am scraping a living in exile

      that I was sentenced

      to hunger

      to misery

      and to poverty?

      Munzur

      Oh Munzur

      no happiness is granted to me in faraway countries

      When I suffer from homesickness in exile

      how can I be happy?

       My Love

      My love is

      like red carnations

      fresh as dew

      My love is

      like green wheat sprouts

      on the field

      young and fertile

      My love is

      like tones of a shepherd’s flute

      strong and vibrant

      My love is

      nature

      and humanity

      My love is

      the song of freedom

       For whom are we fighting?

      For whom,

      with whom are we fighting?

      We do not even possess an acre of land!

      So:

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