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lide　from　my　lovely　eye　and

just then； a poem painfully came to mind。 I’ve never been able to forget it；

because at that same moment； inspired by the Almighty； I sang that poem

rhythmically　like　a　song；　trying　to　forget　my　woes：

My　fickle　heart　longs　for　the　West　when　I’m　in　the　East　and　for　the　East　when

I’m　in　the　West。

My　other　parts　insist　I　be　a　woman　when　I’m　a　man　and　a　man　when　I’m　a

woman。

How　difficult　it　is　being　human；　even　worse　is　living　a　human’s　life。

I　only　want　to　amuse　myself　frontside　and　backside；　to　be　Eastern　and　Western

both。

I　was　going　to　say；　“Let’s　hope　our　Erzurumi　brethren　don’t　hear　the　song

issuing from my heart；” for they’ll be cross。 But why should I be afraid？

Perhaps　they　won’t　be　angry　at　all。　Listen；　I’m　not　saying　this　for　the　sake　of

gossip；　but　I’ve　learned　how　that　famous　preacher　the　Exalted　Not…Husret…by…

a…Longshot Effendi； despite being married； prefers handsome boys to us

women　just　as　you　sensitive　painters　do。　I’m　just　telling　you　what　I’ve　heard。

But　I　pay　no　mind　to　any　of　this　because　I　find　him　repulsive　besides；　and　he’s

so　old。　His　teeth　have　fallen　out　and　as　the　young　boys　who　get　close　to　him

say；　his　mouth　stinks；　excuse　the　expression；　like　a　bear’s　ass。

All　right　then；　I’m　holding　off　on　the　hearsay　to　return　to　the　real　issue　at

hand：　As　soon　as　I　saw　how　beautiful　I　was；　I　no　longer　wanted　to　wash　clothes

and dishes and parade about the streets like a slave。 Poverty； tears； sorrow；

gazing forlornly at a mirror of disappointment and crying are the lot of sad

and　ugly　women