4 Temmuz 2019
Sevgili Şiir Dostlarım
4 Temmuz 2019



Osman Öztürk, whose lyrics composed by the seasoned Turkish composers, and whose poems translated into 22 languages, goes ahead with representing his country successfully.

Osman Öztürk’s 9th poetry collection called “HOPE” has been published in Mongolia in Mongolian, English and Turkish languages. His poetry books include “Bakraç”, “The Season of Cherry Laurel -Taflan Mevsimi”, “The Missing Page – Eksik Sayfa”, “The Autumn Loneliness – Güz Yalnızlığı”, “You Were Much of the Green As Well As the Blue – O Kadar Yeşildin O Kadar Mavi” published in Turkey; “Sommerblau – Yaz Mavisi” published in Hamburg, Germany in 5 languages; and his another poetry collection entitled “La Mia Isola-Island-Ada” published in Italy in three languages.

Osman Öztürk, who is one of the leading figures in Turkey in the field of security, and being the architect of the school safety project, a businessman, poet and writer, expressed his thoughts and feelings in his 9th book called “UMUT-HOPE” printed and presented to the Mongolian literature lovers in Mongolia as follows:

“Poetry is the common language of humanity. Although our languages, colors, beliefs, thoughts and homelands differ on the planet we live, our eyes and feelings can see/select the very same seven colors in the rainbow, and get enchanted by them. Though in terms of numbers we are millions, yet we are at the same time as alone as the world that keeps revolving in the infinity of the cosmos. What is a reality is that we are the children of the same sky and the earth. We can never change this fact. However, by enhancing the culture of living together, by living in peace and safety, by internalizing the world citizenship, we can succeed. Poetry would unite us, and it consolidates love, respect, being virtuous as well as living humanely and happily.

There are some continents and lands that make us befriend, brothers and sisters as well as kin to each other. This is exactly so like a tree would grow out of its root through coming into leaf and like a creek emerging from its spring to turn into a gushing river, every society would be taking root in its land, growing to the extent that it cannot be contained in its geography.

Lineage by lineage, tribe by tribe they make this globe their homeland.

We have been blossomed out in these lands like wheatears, and we took hold by blooming in Anatolia in a Nowruz morning.

Oh lovely Mongolia, my ancestral land!

In our memories, passionate folk songs accompany to the clops in those endless steppes.

This was the inner voice and energy derived from my feeling which caused me to write this book.

The lines of this book and the feelings of the two established cultures will meet again. The stories will be told at the Orhon Inscriptions and Otuken.

The poems on love will be recited in a brotherly world.

I hope this poetry book of mine entitled “Hope” could keep its intercontinental journey with hope, and it does have the poetry lovers like it.”

Oyun.S., a poet, writer and Mongolian State Recognized Cultural Expert, wrote an introduction to Osman Öztürk’s poetry collection called “Hope” and published in Turkish, English and Mongolian languages:

 “Hearing the Seas and Listening for the Hearts

The poems of Turkish poet, Osman Öztürk, translated into Mongolian by translator Jenny, is introduced to Mongolians. He is a poet who poetizes his motherland, The Republic of Turkey, and his lonely soul is like an island in the middle of the ocean or he listens to his heart and screams of seagulls sound. He writes about the oceans, seagulls and the melody of the heart as we, Mongolians, praise our mountains and our blue sky.

Dear Osman Öztürk, I strongly believe that your poems will excite Mongolian readers.”




Osman Öztürk posing with Jenny Lkhagvasuren, a poet and translator, who translated the poetry collection into Mongolian language.


The following are the poem called “HOPE” which is also the name of the poetry collection, and the poem entitled “O LOVELY MONGOLIA”



Do not destroy your hopes

Your chirping feathers

Do not break your branches which did not become green, kids

You have so many springs and summers to live


Do not crash the flowers kids, do not

One day they will grow and burst in bud

Do not destroy your hope kids, do not


Take a look at the sunflowers blossoming towards the sun

Do not think that the wheatears will get dry for lack of water

Do not destroy your hope kids, do not

There are so many wonderful days to live


Walk towards the sun

Walk towards the fire

Walks for hope

Yet do not turn back, kids


Even the sky gets darker

Even the earth gets cracked

And the mountains and stones catch fire

Do not be afraid kids, keep walking…


Life is not something just black and white

There are infinite numbers of colors inside of it

Our biggest power is our hope

And our dreams, kids

As the crop is not bowing its head yet

As the rain is not falling on the soil

Open your palms to collect drops

Do not destroy your hope kids, do not


Take out hopelessness from your mind

Push for the impossible

If you toil enough, you can build a fire from a dry branch

You can also build indestructible bridges out of stone and soil

Do not destroy your hope kids, do not


They cannot blight the sun

They cannot condemn us to darkness

One twilight might change everything

One day the sun will rise, kids


Maybe a polestar shines in the sky

Maybe there will be a lightning flash

And a storm could drag us along

Maybe the waters get settled down

Swaying in the sea

One olive branch and a grape


An olive tree could live so many years

A great plane tree would web its roots in the soil for so many years

Grow your hope with patience

And carry it to your tomorrows

One day everything might change

One day the world might change

Do not think the morning wind will blow and go away

Everybody would reap the harvest of their deeds

There is a tomorrow of today.

Keep in mind that life restarts where you lost

Do not destroy your hope kids, do not


The kite would not know it is flying

Do not forget that the sea could turn into a wild wave

And the great many difficulties in life

Do not forget kids, do not

Do not destroy your hope kids, do not



I drew the bow up to the end

And released my arrow towards the endless horizon of the steppe

My target was the country of the fire clouds where the earth and the sky met


I would call the moorland, where my arrow got stuck, homeland, and my homeland

I recognize these lonesome regions my fatherland

Where the sun soaring from the azure blue, rising and setting over the mountains


Like a Mongol reining in his horse so grandiosely

I would shoot ahead into the illimitableness of the steppe angrily

While the sparks coming from my horse’s hooves as it was running violently


As the lightning was striking on the bosom of flashes

I would be setting up my tent on your soil slapped by the wind in the dark night

The haircloth tent is my home, my household, and I consider it my homeland


Great Altay Mountains would hail flame scarlet ashes onto my heart

As I would be exposed to the isolated desert cold, and I would be shivering and curveting

The howling of a wolf would resonate in the thick loneliness of the mountains


There is no tree without roots nor is there a nation that is ignoble

Regardless of we come from the same clan or not, who would dare to question our ancestors

We are the children exiled to foreign lands from a homeland with her long branches


We had set up the tent of soul and homeland in the most inaccessible place of the epochs

We had shot branches as we had been scattered from pillar to post

We had used our chest as a shield against the wind, the land, and the cold


Warrior Genghis Khan, a strong commander

When he whipped his galloping black horse

He had chased away so many nations from Asia to Europe


O lovely Mongolia, lovely homeland of my noble ancestors

Her head stretching towards heaven like a mountain

Touches all the time the clouds


Don’t take the Orhon Inscription just like only an obelisk

Turk’s mores had been engraved with incorrodible letters on it

Every sentence tells about the birth of the Turk and his nobleness, Otuken, the land of the Turk


Give ear, listen to

Following every starry night, clops of our ancestors resound

As the sky gets crimson red when sun appears


Water is risen out of its spring, and a child comes to the world from its ancestors

In the chilly lakes, solitude looms around

Wild horses, lake birds and a feeling of loneliness accompany longing


By wrapping you with cold nights, I await you on the roads, in the middle of nowhere

Milky way, the full moon, strings of stars blink over my head

O my ancestor’s homeland, Mongolia, a lovely country of azure blue


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