Poet: Işıl Ayça Akkuş

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O spare!
O, spare my child
From all the terrors of life;
Spare her from the wicked,
The restless violence

O spare my child
For the days she has not lived;
The love bestowed upon red essence.
Spare her from the fears at night,
For the endless run she has yet to do.

O, spare my child;
She was just born today in a wasted land.
The hatred humbled in her heart.
Spare her from death,
As twice she saw the post-curtain.

O, spare my child
For the songs she has yet to sing;
Words that fly through her mind.
Spare her from sorrow;
Life leaks through her aged eyes as if air.

O, spare my child;
She has yet to become something
In the midst of nothingness.
Spare the stars for her,
As she owes a childhood to orphans;
A family that never was,
Yet searched for, restless, for ages.

O, spare my child;
The will to live
Falls through her broken wings.
May her tomorrows be granted
Along the moonlight,
Where the black meets the white.