Belart Muroc


The Marketplace Still Attaches Your Fool To Money - Poem by Belart Muroc

One does not sell
broken pottery,
look for profitable business.
A hump on her back
your wife Zâra
beats the wool
Let your hungry children
and your animals that wait for fodder
not cause you to brood;
the marketplace is always there
attaching your soul to money.
You sell your merchandise,
you make money,
you will not go to Nigde...
You remain without hope
in the marketplace.
Your customers hearing your voice
say 'Halil is still here...'
Sell your apples
snatched from their branches
hope they are all eaten;
the marketplace is still there
attaching your soul to money.
You sell your merchandise,
you make money,
you will never go to Nigde...
Let indifference
not change you,
the shenanigans
and acrobatics
of all sorts -
let all that
from one direction
not tire your mind.
The marketplace is always there
attaching your soul to money.
You sell your merchandise,
you make money,
you will never go to Nigde...

© Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Traduit par Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick - 2002

NDTR: Nigde is a prefecture of Turkey
and Bor is a sub-prefecture of Nigde.


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Read poems about / on: money, hope, change, children, animal, child



Poem Submitted: Saturday, June 7, 2003



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