Turkey Holiday Children

Ascendantly,
There was a moment in the morning at Suleymaniye
This feast hour under our own sky dome,
For nine generations, all the people,
The place looks up from the blueness of the landscape,
The dusty hour of the time is coming up every moment.
He is the one who is about to end,
The wing in the sky is the footsteps on the ground.
There is a return! .. what a bond, what a strange world! ..
The weather is filled with thousands of dreams of paint ...
These arrivals are all horizons are old times;
It's a nice place that was opened by those times.
Light in darkness as you mix in this calmness
He is walking, constantly mixing people and imagination;
Whosoever hears from heaven,
He enters, one after the other, the divine structure.
Every one of your gods is filling up,
At this time Süleymaniye is becoming a capital.

Army-nations most fought, most sarpi
This is a way to God that He loves.
Your last call to martyr
It is a fact that Budur dreamed in its essence.
The eternity is good everywhere so you can see,
This kudsî peak in the horizon of the chosen Istanbul;
The burden of transportation is wasted,
A nice thousand worker who has overthrown the stone, mîmâriyle.
The free and vast country, both night and day,
Uhrevî opened a door from here to the sky,
Taqi is the soul majesty without mercy.
For one thing, this is the victory of the victory.

Great wealth! I only understand you this morning;
I, too, today become a wealthy;
At one time, I thought I was a prodigal son;
Now, looking at this cumhuri under the dome,
I have been dreaming since long and dreaming
I feel like Cedler's forgiveness.
A tongue, a hearty, religious man
Seeing that his presence was gathered once;
Anyone who speaks of the Great God
Nice being a thousand wavy Tekbir is a single voice;
The rising velvet of a rising reptile,
Nice tiny horse jelly mixed with nice bricks!

Someone on the front row seated
Listening and taking Tekbîr'i again with cd
How pure is this imperious fate!
Who was it? Bânisi, Mimar, is your work?
Türkoğlu walking through Taa Malazgirt plain
Was that what? Their deep eyes are full of ages,
The face is the most beautiful of the bold faces of the world,
I am tired of seeing a great job;
We are both a great landlord and guardian who protects
We are always our being, both our knowledge and ours;
He is both a living heir and a seaman,
The visible ring is consolation like these days,
Both in this land today, everywhere we stay,
And places we've long been lost.

The garden of rose as if against the mountains,
A place of dark redness separating from the sky.
There are voices in the sky, certain, profoundly deep;
Maybe hundreds of cities are calling each other.
Are these sounds too close, too far away?
From Üsküdar? Is it from Hisar? From the poplars?
From Bursa, Konya, Izmir, from a distance,
After this, the mountain is collapsed;
Now every step, taa Bâyezîd, Van,
The same ball sounds coming from each other.
How soulful, vast and brilliant is this place!
Women men and children, full-fledged, locally,
Listening to all the big winds of winds,
The Mohac balls after the rogues.

Sounds of balls in the sky, one, where do they come from?
Each one comes from another victory:
From Kosovo, Niğbolu, Varna, Istanbul
It is this moment that every one of them admires a vocation;
Belgrade? Is it from Budin, Curve and Alert?
Is it the ascendant mountain in the last borders?

Where do the ball sounds come from on the sea horizon?
Barbaros, maybe, with the navy! ..
From the Islands? From Tunisia, from Algeria?
Two hundred thousand ships equipped in the free horizon
The new comes from the place they look at the moon;
From which seaman are those bonded ships?

In the great battle of the mixed country homeland.
Thank goodness Allaha, I saw it again at times
The deed is that the living.