From the ground, looking at him from behind their hands
Shading the sun, they did not take his body down
From the crucifix
Without reaching forth they clasped their hands
Under breasts, they separately took sides
With the arrogance of lament and witnessing the punishment.
It was before our caliphs approved taking sides.
Beneath the irritating cloth covering my body, tacking my eyes on my pubic,
My mind on nails and my feelings on the pinned crease of the turban,
I took all faces around the crucifix
And brought them to you.
I didn’t like the way my milk sibling raised eyebrow
Whispering here is the prophet, here is the camel in my ear.
On this sphere surrounded by
My hips when sitting, my soles when standing
How can blood for blood penetration into deserving
Be reasonable because I sucked the colorful liquid
By means of the cloth I took off my head.
His body was not taken down from the crucifix today,
The murderers of children shot on the police barricade were not found either,
We talked this in the afternoon, twelve women in total
At our ink day instead of gold, on our first meeting after Sir Muhlis’s heart attack
On our second meeting after Madam Besime’s hysterectomy,
While Huriye the mistress was putting 22 carat gold coins beneath her bra
I said, “He stood on the crucifix for thirty days, rotted, crows ate him.”
Whimpering thank goodness we didn’t name our sons Jesus
They daintily ate chocolate salami,
I would never forget their faces.
I didn’t like the way my milk sibling nipped me
Whispering here is the earth, here is the people in my pussy.
Being sent to schools, enrolled in courses
Calligraphy, ballet, piano and folk dances – I hoped we do Caucasian dance –
If only I knew how to speak with the blackboard against the shedding blood
I wish I could tell my mom that I want to enroll
In the course of knowing at a glance
“Don’t you dare nail him on the spruce.”
After eight funerals, six weddings and thirteen births
I could understand that the one wearing the crown of thorns
Was my desk mate Abdullah
After three rounds of beating, how he stood
On one foot, arms spread
And while the pee he couldn’t hold in
Flowing down his aesthetic legs
Let me wipe your shame with a big towel
Thank god there was a few children named Abdullah in the class
The scents used by pilgrims, troubled beard, after ablution
In the collective smell of humid feet, in the middle of our house
To frighten away the crows from the sausages my father stuffed
We made a scarecrow made up of short arms nailed on a long timber.
Only tied black ribbons on the short arms
By obeying our granny unwilling to draw a face on it.
On top of the long timber calico became turban
It was from the maidenhood of Huriye the mistress –
It cleaned the floors for ten years, the flowers were not visible anymore –
I was annoyed with my milk sibling’s finding a hubby to me
Whispering here is the woman, here is the field to the public.
While consuming everything halal, there were
Some neighbors deluded by the dream of finding another country
By way of the fiber between our teeth. We spoke for the ones
Who identified the ones eating pork, they cut special willows for each
Promptly and free from inertia, without arranging long and short angles
They made elegant crucifixes.
Pleasurably listening to the confession of atheism
We had to inject the apparent power of idyllic Muslimism.
I smelled the scents used by pilgrims when talking about elegance and grace
Coming from the baby’s neck beneath the muslin on the fortieth day,
At the sacrament of blessing for the bride of aunt Gulsum.
Being brought to the same warlock the eighth time
Demons in us could not be exorcized,
As the weary warlock blew and jumped at times
Jesus was not taken down from the crucifix today,
The corpses of women burnt near the highway were not found either
Hence we let the demons out and we knew
The beginning to extinguish our warlock’s fire
Three Al-Ikhlaas and one NASA
Against the evil eye to protect our government
For national unity and solidarity
I took offence at my milk sibling’s saliva
While they were talking here is the sofa, here is the law.
Thinking what to do with the tax cuts of my salary
In my odorous life embordered with roses, in the night
I was invited to my milk sibling’s wedding
I thought all lessons and courses were not idle anymore
– I hoped they play Caucasian music –
As I saw the gold coins thrown by
Besime, Huriye and the widow of Sir Muhsin
The gold on the breasts of bride and groom surprised me
It was not the embossment of
Our great leader Ataturk on 22 carat gold coins.
From the ground, looking at them from behind the hands
Closing their eyes, they did not take their funerals from djemevi
I regularly arranged each face and made each of them
Take sides for neither male nor female ones,
How shall my milk sibling know Al-Fatihah, she began with he neither begets
Beside the scarecrow in the afternoon I caught her
Greedily biting the sausages as if a crow was pecking
I told what I saw, my hair was cut and tied instead of turban
My hair was the new front line for crows
If this tumbledown crucifix grew and fell,
They would spring from my head pricked by the scissors.
The face of my milk sibling resembled Saint Peter’s,
While she was defending herself here is the sausage, here is the crow.
We were brought to the same warlock the fifty eighth time
The haunting curse was not exorcized again, I took
And brought it to you.
Translation from Turkish: Gözde Zülal Solak
Illustration: Wafa Al-Husaini