The ant from Sivas
The giant Kizilirmak was flowing,
Foaming, foaming.
Beneath a telegraph pole,
Calm as time itself
He was walking,
An ant from Sivas.
On the opposite bank, bay horses,
Shining, shining,
Were neighing.
Far from the horses' sound
The ant was walking
Not comprehending the distance.
His sound was the sound of his footsteps
Happy and contented
It was heard heroic.
Sainted with the feet of hunger
He was walking
On the earth.
From the ease of his going it was clear
He knew with savor
Mountains, streams, grasses.
Leaving one group of ants
He was walking
Toward other ants.
By effort, labor, tirelessness
He resembled
Those from Africa, China, Paris,
Black upon the black earth's brow.
Unaware of ideas and causes
It was not for a dream
He was walking.
For a grain of wheat
He was walking,
The ant from Sivas.
