Hüseyin Teacher, Mud Stains and the Light of the Stove

Two pieces of wood in my bag,
I light the stove in the classroom,
My friends will be here soon,
The student's stove watch.

They said the teacher's name was Hüseyin,
He doesn't look like anyone from my village,
Even the way he walks is different,
Love flows from your face.

Math was hard sometimes,
Homework must be on time,
The compass doesn't just measure angles,
I see the mark he left on our hands.

The field I run from end to end,
It's very short now, I understand,
In my class, which I call crowded,
I know there are eight of us.

With my sugar sack,
In my cold rubber shoes,
My school and my teachers,
I remember their names one by one.

Yes, it went so fast,
Now I miss those days.

Erzurum
Sait Çıkrıkçı - 22.11.2024