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Nazim Hikmet - On The Fifth Day Of A Hunger Strike
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My brothers, 
Forgive me if I`m unable to say 
honestly and straightforwardly 
all that I would like to say to you 
I`m drunk, my head is light, it spins, 
not from raki 
but from hunger. 
My brothers, 
I`m European, I`m Asian, I`m American, 
In this month of May 
I`m not in jail or on a hunger strike, 
But lying at night in a meadow 
With your eyes as near to mine as the stars 
And your hands in mine as a single hand 
like the hand of my mother 
like the hand of my helpmate 
like the hand of life. 
My brothers, 
You, at least, have never abandoned me, 
Not me or my country or my people. 
I know that you love me and love what`s ours 
As I love you and love what`s yours. 
And for this 
I thank you, my brothers, 
I thank you. 
My brothers, 
I have no intention of dying. 
And if I am killed 
I know 
I`ll go on living 
in your thoughts. 
I`ll live in the lines of Aragon- 
in every line that describes 
the coming of beautiful days- 
And in the pigeons of Picasso, 
And in the folksongs of Robson... 
And more beautiful than anything else 
more triumphant than anything else 
I`ll live in the jubilant laughter 
of a comrade on strike day 
in the port of Marseilles. 
My brothers, 
Since you really wish me to talk again, 
I`m so happy, so happy, 
that I spurt the words out!
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