Outstretched he lies there,
shot right through his spotless brow,
For this crescent, O Lord, what suns are setting now!
O soldier, for this earth's sake fallen to the dust,
If your heavenly forbears kissed your brow, 'twere just.
* * *
Who can dig a sepulchre great
enough for you?
History itself, say I, cannot contain you.
That book records the epochs upturned in this race...
Eternities are needed to give you your place.
* * *
No more these horizons for you
no more this test...
Martyr son of martyr, ask me not for a grave,
The Prophet open armed awaits his warrior brave.
Passages from the poem "To the Martyrs of Çanakkale"
by Mehmet Akif Ersoy (1873-1936)
Translated by Prof. S. Tanvir Wasti
