Blue lights descended from the hills on an August night,
The sky opened like a dark blue fan.
Ataturk emerged from the tent, his generals behind him,
Hitting his leather crop against his knee
He raised his head high:
Stars that seemed to have given their hearts to the flag …
‘Are the men ready, İsmet?’
‘Everything, my general.’
He knew our souls like a mirror,
Tomorrow’s dawns appeared in his eyes.
He looked in the darkness, and bayonets gleamed …
‘Hello, soldier,’ he said,
The ranks passed before him:
The men shouted, ‘Long live!’
He gave that golden hair to the night,
He had now forgotten everything,
Only wanted with a fierce passion
To glide to the ridges of Afyon
Like magnificent eagles.
He wanted to flow to the Mediterranean
Like a river of fire.
THE FOUNDER OF TURKEY