Vietnam, 1975 – An Orphan (poetry)

Vietnam, 1975 – An Orphan

Your face is full of dirt, kiddo.

Your tomb is in the jungle.

The roots buried it long time ago,

The soil that was soaked with rains,

That was the only one to caress you...

Come faster, it will be flooding here soon,

But the trees will stay, they will stay,

They will stay naked, surrounded by floods.

Your odds are only a little bit better, kiddo,

A little bit better than the kid left at garbage.

Your odds are a little bit better, kiddo,

A little bit better than street dogs, trash cats.

Your mom covers her face in your dreams,

With giant banana leaves.

Your dad wears a mask in your dreams.

A face you haven’t seen, a voice you haven’t heard of,

That is it, that is it,

That is your mom and dad...

Climb now onto the coconut trees,

If the cities did not hold you in their arms,

This jungle, this immense hide-and-seek area

Will nurture you, will feed you, will back you,

When you would fall asleep through the long shadows.

You should then help the animals that are to be hunted

Help those animals that are to be massacred...

Both for human beings, as well as for animals,

It is hard to separate mom from her kid...

Let the still waters be your mirror,

And never  look back again...

Let them live, let them live in the cities,

Those are the ones who found fire... They will burn the forests...

And let millions of family photos be taken,

Let them be taken without you, let them.

Let the prints turn to color from black and white,

Let the women give birth to new kids.

Let Bigburgers and McDonalds get crammed and emptied.

Let the censuses, statistics and forecasts cumulate.

Let the folder shelves get full, get empty, get full again.

Let the rubbish bins that were dirty with old trash get filled with new trash...

Some of the horses can get restrained,

Some others would not recognize any restraint...

Some of the urbanites are restraints,

Some others are horses that you know. Horses!

If you would come across the warriors’ barracks,

Move your palms that are full of water to your brother, sister that are thirsty.

Don’t worry, the leaves will witness

They will witness your being without any witness...

And just disappear when safari lovers arrive despite the war...

And don’t forget to cheer up the elephant whose tusk was looted.

And then when the warriors would point their guns at you,

They will of course recognize your palm full of water.

I will remember you too, you hid me from the enemy,

While the leaves exposed my unsafe position.

You are the one whose words are obeyed by the leaves,

You built up our liberation by your own hands...

Of course the photographers could not find you,

Their hands, the journalists’ hands can’t reach here.

Now you look from your unknown tomb,

I am neither a photographer nor a journalist,

I feel hungry with sounds, I feel full with words.

If I would be a tree, I am a tree full of words bottom up, a tree of sounds...

Let the number of empty Coke boxes increase,

Let the bomb assets per capita increase by thousands of tonnes,

These are all for democracy, all in the name of democracy,

The chemicals sprayed on our leaves are also for democracy,

Democracy was sprayed on our leaves, then the leaves were dehydrated and wrinkled,

And Rambo Pasha donned his sword in the name of democracy.

Of course, it is better to die in this immense jungle

Compared to having your last breath under water.  

And your soul, if it is a part of the mother nature,

-And that is true.- Both birth and death are reunions of soul with another soul...

Let the shadows talk, let them talk,

We are far from the reality, very far, everybody is far...

When even your own shadow misleads you,

Which shadow would ever tell you the truth...

Shadows should have their own shadows too, too...

Then that monk would sweep the bushes,

He will sweat, slowly sweat, but let him sweep,

And while cleaning up the wetness of his front,

Let him move down his eyes to your dead body...

Your face is full of dirt, kiddo.

Your tomb is in the jungle.

The roots buried it long time ago,

The soil that was soaked with rains,

That was the only one to caress you...

Ulaş Başar Gezgin

November 10, 2007

Gezgin, U.B. (2017). You, I and Our Son - Poems of Peace, Longing and Love from Vietnam

POETRY BOOKS IN ENGLISH AND OTHER LANGUAGES / İNGİLİZCE VE DİĞER DİLLERDE ŞİİR KİTAPLARI 1. Gezgin, U.B. (2017). Yağmur Sonrası/ After Rain / После дождя / Diğer Dillerdeki Gezgin Şiirleri: Rusça, İngilizce, Tayca, Azerbaycanca, Vietnamca, İspanyolca ve Japonca [Gezgin’s Poetry in Other Languages: Russian, English, Thai, Azerbaijani, Vietnamese, Spanish and Japanese]. 2. Gezgin, U.B. (2017). You, I and Our Son - Poems of Peace, Longing and Love from Vietnam 3. Gezgin, U.B. (2017). For Those Who Will Sail Across The Oceans: An Explorer’s Vietnam Poems. 4. Gezgin, U. B. (2007). On a Tablet – English Poems by Ulas Basar Gezgin. Lulu.