Written by
Nazim Hikmet |
Comrades, if I don't live to see the day
-- I mean,if I die before freedom comes --
take me away
and bury me in a village cemetery in Anatolia.
The worker Osman whom Hassan Bey ordered shot
can lie on one side of me, and on the other side
the martyr Aysha, who gave birth in the rye
and died inside of forty days.
Tractors and songs can pass below the cemetery --
in the dawn light, new people, the smell of burnt gasoline,
fields held in common, water in canals,
no drought or fear of the police.
Of course, we won't hear those songs:
the dead lie stretched out underground
and rot like black branches,
deaf, dumb, and blind under the earth.
But, I sang those songs
before they were written,
I smelled the burnt gasoline
before the blueprints for the tractors were drawn.
As for my neighbors,
the worker Osman and the martyr Aysha,
they felt the great longing while alive,
maybe without even knowing it.
Comrades, if I die before that day, I mean
-- and it's looking more and more likely --
bury me in a village cemetery in Anatolia,
and if there's one handy,
a plane tree could stand at my head,
I wouldn't need a stone or anything.
Moscow, Barviha Hospital
|
Written by
Anonymous |
"He saith to the snow, Be thou on the earth."
God's works are very great, but still
His hands do not ap-pear:
Though hea-ven and earth o-bey His will,
His voice we can-not hear.
And yet we know that it is He
Who moves and governs all,
Who stills the rag-ing of the sea,
And makes the showers to fall.
Alike in mer-cy He be-stows
The sun-shine and the rain;
That which is best for us He knows,
And we must not com-plain,
Whe-ther He makes His winds to blow,
And gives His tem-pests birth,
Or sends His frost, or bids the snow—
"Be thou up-on the earth."
|
Written by
Anonymous |
God loves His lit-tle birds; for all
His ten-der care He shows;
A sin-gle spar-row can-not fall
But its Cre-a-tor knows.
They do not sow, nor reap the corn,
Gar-ner nor barn have they;
God gives them break-fast every morn,
And feeds them through the day.
And this we know; for in His Word,
Where all His ways we read,
We find that eve-ry lit-tle bird
He cares for, and will feed.
God loves each lit-tle bird; but still
More ten-der is His care
For chil-dren who o-bey His will,
Than for the fowls of air.
|