A Dervish of the Bektashi

…To Umit Sariaslan[1]

Hiding his childhood,
the Fakili roads
full of dust and earth.
He dreams of Hitties
and the aromas of Ankara.

He is a Dervish of the Bektashi
With a ticket in his pocket,
And can never be sent by oppression.

Every time he smiles
A black locomotive comes and goes.

Ali F. Bilir

[1] Umit Sariaslan is a Turkish poet, writer, critic.

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