I was just 12-13 years old. That was the first time we had experienced abroad, longing, and slaying as a family. Until then, I thought that my father was going to take the bus and then he would come to the village in the evening on the same day.
My father met with his close relatives and neighbors who had gathered in the village square, took halalness, got on the bus and sat in his seat. When we turned to me from where my father was sitting in the bus, and when we turned to me, who was waiting outside, we glanced at me for a while, that's when I, who did not know what the separation was until then, was frozen. Pain that was difficult to describe was stuck in my heart, I could not speak, my throat was knotted and my tongue turned into a garnet. I wanted to raise my hand and say goodbye, but my hand was not up, my knees were in a state of motion and I could not move ... When the bus moved towards the eyebrow, which was the hill of the village, with a wheezing noise behind it, it was as if a piece of my heart broke off and it hurts.
My God, my child, my sacrifice, I am entrusted to you. or I haven't seen it ... Why was this expatriate invented? Isn't there a bite of bread to eat here? He gave me a hug, saying, "The eyes of those who separate their baby from their mother and homeland!
At that moment I realized that; My Father was really gone, not knowing when I was going to see him again. He had left his home, his home. At that moment, it was the first time I had experienced what a breakup was.
My dear Mother had sent off my father at home, he could not come near the bus, so that my father would not see him cry and be sad, who knows, maybe he would not seem weak to the neighbor-neighbor, ... However, that night, the family did not sleep until the first light of the morning ..... We waited for our father for five years ...
My dear mother, while she is sowing sickles in her hand in the field, sowing seeds in the field, sowing wheat in the thresher, harvesting grass in the garden, irrigating the trees, planting seedlings from the garden in the season, collecting twigs in preparation for winter, milking cows in the barn and spreading milk in the machine, harvester ), sewing rips of clothes and rags to the sewing machine, I don't know how many dough dough or sour bread filled with dough or sour bread at night will work in the field the next day at night ... He used to sing, "Going and going, infidel village becomes a dormitory ...";
Go and go, infidel village becomes a dormitory
My flies swarm and my wounds go gray
Because they love a beauty
It doesn't die, it doesn't die, it becomes a problem for my heart
Go and go, infidel village becomes a dormitory
Don't wash your eyebrows will be a problem for me
If you don't, this hand will be a wolf to me
Doesn't it turn back beautiful?
Black your eyebrows, your kypri is an arrow
I called the world, you don't have any men
The places you go are many
See and don't forget me the beauties
You have a black eyebrow, a black eye
I have an unbearable crazy heart
For seven years I looked for a cure
You never said, I have a remedy for my trouble
He would wipe his eyes with the tip of his writing just in front of him, so that we would not be upset when he noticed that someone was coming to him or when we went to him. When I saw that his eyes were bloodshot from crying, I would realize that my dear Mother cried again.
Whenever I hear this song, or whenever I try to sing it, my eyes get foggy, my nose will ache, my heart will be strange. I feel like reliving those days