Who live as if never die someday!
Do you think that you are God, immortal?
The creatures consisting of flesh and blood,
You do not know the spirit in you.
We are the ones whose faces are forgotten,
Whose voices are lost in silence of dark.
The cold land covers our skin,
Sweat fills our lungs in deep graves,
While the sun makes your skin darker,
And you lie on the land which swallows us.
Once upon a time, we were more alive than you.
You think that the death is eternal dream, eternal sleep.
But we witness that it is not.
It is nothingness what you examine all the times.
There is no word and dream here.
Everything is quite simple, quite basic.
The religions you created and the heaven or hell you imagine,
We don’t know what they are, where they are.
The sins which you like to list,
The myths and imaginations of heaven you dreadfully wish,
We were lost when we had been looking for them.
Symbol of the divine, the LIGHT,
We don’t know what it is anymore, we can’t see it anymore.
Mothers and fathers and the rapers and murderers,
You are all the same, no difference between you.
You gave us the life, you took life from us.
The responsible of our death and sufferings
Are just you, not any other person.
We never had a choice to select.
The birth of human is the death of the human.
Pleasure you take from sex and the sin,
For your happiness, we suffer.
And your God is not here to judge us.
Neither is the devil here.
We did not die when they stabbed us,
Or shot us from the heart.
The diseases could not kill us,
As you did by forgetting us.
By burying us to the chest of cold land.
We would have preferred to be ash,
To be able to be in the heart of nature.
Maybe we would have wandered around you,
As silent and invisible ghosts.
We would be kissing you from the cheek,
Touching your face, caring your hairs.
But these things are what you buried into the darkness.
You had no pity on us while burying us with shovel.
The gravestone became your chest where we had cried,
The roots and worms are our new friends,
And to us, they are closer than you were.
Our corpses were not only flesh but also emotions and regrets.
They were our stories, our memories.
Ramazan Yilmaz lives in Izmir, Turkey and is a student of American culture and literature at Dokuz Eylul University.