Is it Sarajevo which burns or are we that Alija

I.

Where is this smoke rising from, Alija…

Where from comes this smell of fire?

Is it the relic soil of your country which caught fire

or the invisible flames of our burning cities…

Is it the ashes of Sarajevo being so thrown around?

I have seen that your orphan nations crime was just to believe,

it was said that you deserve the fierce of this cursed age.

An age called the West, a masked face, a treacherous ambush

a fierce called the West, Oh, its name and fame be ruined…

I have seen it is your belief which frightens this cursed age

If your country is destroyed, believe that we will be destroyed

if your country is destroyed, we will drag ourselves along the ground.

Pity us, pity our country which has lost its eternal sun,

pray for us that black clouds do not keep at us anymore!

If your country is destroyed, believe that we will be destroyed,

pray for us that our blood flows firstly for the sake of belief.

Is it the fog of our country which covers the skies, Alija…

Or is it the ashes of Sarajevo being thrown around?

II.

Where is this wail rising from, Alija…

Where from comes this cry, this voice of oppressed ones?

Is it the raped women of your country who are crying

or the echo of screams left from our dirty brains…

Is it the children cut into pieces and thrown around with the winds?

I have seen it is cruel that we laugh, that we play

I have seen it is difficult to eat, to drink, and to sleep.

The cage of our chests will be tight for all of us I know,

from now on we cannot look at pretty faces of children…

I have seen we cannot look at their innocent eyes

If those children cease to exist, believe that we will cease to exist

if those children cease to exist, we will fall into deep holes.

Pity us, pity our country which has lost its eternal soul,

pray for us that we get our beautiful light again.

If those children cease to exist, believe that we will cease to exist,

pray for us that we fight in sees, and we fight in the skies.

Is it our fake tears which get upon pilgrim winds, Alija…

Or the children died before playing games are thrown around?

Translated by: A. Edip Yazar

Original Turkish of this poem,  “Saraybosna mı yanan biz miyiz Aliya” has been awarded with the First Prize in the International Turkish Language Bosnia Poetry Contest in 1994

To the memory of the “Wise King”.