My Prayer Rug In My Room Was Made Of She ...

My prayer rug in my room was made of sheepskin,
The water we drank flowed in a rush,
In the mountains the hound rabbits played,
All is lost, my beautiful village.

That fresh air smelled sweet,
Your crops turned yellow,
Spring waters flowed on Acıca mountain,
All is lost, my beautiful village.

Mountains were nowhere to be found,
My black-eyed gazelles grazing inside,
Your hunted partridges, those beautiful birds,
It's gone now, my beautiful village.

The surrounding villages would envy your vineyards,
To the flow of your water, to the sunset,
Everyone would wake up to the burning call of the morning prayer,
There are no azan sounds anymore, my beautiful village.

My grandparents who took honey from their impassable mountains,
All my years have passed for you,
My babies crawling on my threshold,
And they left, O my beautiful village.

Twenty years ago we used to read 60 people,
We hoped that he would become a man by reading,
We used to run to our school excitedly,
Lost in my school oh my beautiful village

Oh where are my grandmothers who are making patches,
My goats, my grooms, sprawling in the pastures,
My cats meowing on my knees,
They are also lost, my beautiful village.

Sometimes you become a dream in my eyes,
Sometimes you heal on my knees,
You become a flower every time I smell it,
I always look at my calloused hands and see you.

I'm in love with you, my beautiful village,
My eyes darken from looking at you,
My hair turns gray from suffering,
But I enjoy your,
From entering the black soil.

You became love, you entered my heart,
You became a Turk, you fell into my tongue,
You are longing, you came to my eyes,
You are my paradise, my beautiful village.