A Poem By Kazim Yardimci


What are you?

That thousands of people like me

Thousands of “I” serve at your work

Thousands of people are all slaves for a bit of bread,

for a little soup.

What are you?

What are you?

Be wrecked though you are real!

Now people are denying you,

Mind, thought, logic decided your worthlessness.

What are you?

What are you?

The shame of humanity!

The false god of the twentieth century!

Prosperous by oppression!

The gang of murderers!

What are you?

What are you?

O merciless!



Sometimes, good people appear among you

Like Sanko in Adıyaman.

Yet, most of them are constant robbers

That help nobody.



Agha, boss, ruler!


What are you?

Know that Mr. Boss

When people have no tears to shed,

The blood of their hearts will flow to their eyes!

They will shed bloody tears onto their faces

Don’t! Don’t liken that color to the jewel on your ring!

This color is different Mr. Boss,

This color is different, agha, gentleman,

This color is, like the dawn, the blood of people

Who have gloomy faces, pale complexion

Melancholic song

Hands covered by calluses

Tired legs,

Troubled heads

That eight of them can sleep under one quilt.

Know that, soon, billions drops of tears of millions of sad people will become a red sea and smother your disgusting ego madly!

It will surely suffocate you in its waves!

Your existence will be mentioned only in History like Pharaoh

Your being abhorrent will be remembered only!

What are you!

What are you!

What are you!


Note: How happy I would feel if I articulated the sighs and laments of our people and brothers of working-class.