Want to be a potter
Hey crowd of people
Let me go to corner.
Have to roll my sleeves
Want to make clay things
I will be a potter
History is shameless
I have to record it.
I'm Khayyam, Andean
See their works in Lima
Pots and jars that show life
Sexual; one with one
Face to face, back-front
And much more…
I want to write this shame
The Turkish and Europe's.
They made deal on displaced
Who made them? And what for?
Who and how? Tell me why?
People are treated less than worms
Contract is a shame; filled with lies.
Turks receive the money
"Buy seed, hay and keep them…
In the tents in ghettos, in slums."
My dear, my mentor
Dearest, my Khayyam
Teach me talk with vase, pot
Come to me, don't know how.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem