They are the enemies of the towel weaver Rejep from Bursa
the enemies of the fitter Hasan from the Karabuk factory.
They are the enemies of the poor peasant woman Matcheh
the enemies of the farmhand Suleyman.
They are your enemies, my enemies,
the enemies of every thinking man.
Our fatherland, which is the home of these people,
they are, my beloved, the enemies of our fatherland.
They are the enemies of hope, my beloved,
the enemies of the running water
of the fruit-laden tree,
of a growing and improving life.
For death has put its stamp upon their foreheads
– decaying teeth, rotten flesh –
They will tumble down and go away
never to come back again.
And surely, my beloved, surely,
in this beautiful country, Liberty
will walk around freely
will walk around in its most glorious outfit
in workingman’s overalls.

All the wealth of the earth cannot quench their thirst
They want to make a lot of money
You have to kill, you have to die
For them to make a lot of money.

No doubt they don’t admit it openly
They hang up colourful lanterns on the dry branches
They send running on the roads glittering lies
Their tails all covered with tinsel and spangles.

In the market-place they are beating the drums;
Under the tents, the tiger-man, the mermaid, the headless-man,
The acrobats in pink shorts on the straight wire,
All have heavily made-up faces.

To be duped or not to be duped
                That is the question.
If you are not duped you will live
If you are duped you will not.