Wartime Memory

Storm, blizzard, snow and cold, A murderous cold prevails! From the distance, muffled demented wails,

Like a dog’s howl, A dying monster’s rattling breath, Ill-omened year - nineteen hundred and seventeen! War has devoured our children, bringing death And now, famine! People starve, their houses unheated, The streets are empty. People are cowed, defeated. At such a time, on such a day, I, in my Bosphorus library philosophize, I search for truth, worship justice, Ask, can justice be defined. The cut-throat cold, The squalls that shook my home, Crashing against the window-panes sent shivers through me, but I did not mind, Sufficient unto me my pain, my need, perhaps my hunger, there’s famine, now! People starve, the streets are empty. I stared at the ferocious waves, then saw - A small pale child, Alone And barefoot in that weather, half-naked And with shaven head, Step slowly on the freezing cobble-stones, Dragging behind it on the filthy streets The sins of cruel tyrants, The unavenged torment of mothers. It looked among the refuse for something to eat, While I indulged in philosophical surmise, Searched for the Real, worshipped the Just. And all the time, the Real was there before my eyes, Naked upon the shoulders of a child! The choice was between looking for a meaning And accepting the absurd. Farewell, philosophy, I said! Come, orphan child, you and I are fellow-travellers, here is some bread.

Translated by Nermin Menemencioğlu