NİSA LEYLA ( Turkey )

NİSA LEYLA ( Turkey )

Nisa Leyla was born in Iskenderun, Hatay, Turkey in 1972. After completing primary and secondary education in Iskenderun, she graduated from Çukurova University, Faculty of Economics and Administrative Sciences in Adana. Later, she held management positions for five years, and served as an English teacher for three years.

In her poetry, she focuses on social issues, inspired by real life. She also writes love poems, socialist and lyric poetries.

Her poems appear in all major magazines in Turkey such as: Varlık, Yasak Meyve, Sincan İstasyonu, Şiirden, Şiiri Özlüyorum, Mühür,  Papirüs, Deliler Teknesi, Ihlamur, Kuşak Edebiyat, Kurşun Kalem, Kurgan Edebiyat, Hürriyet Gösteri, Şiir, Yeni Adana, Yaşam Sanat, Patika, Yeni Dönem, Tay, Afrodisyas Sanat, Temrin, Ring Edebiyat, Ekin Sanat, Şiir Saati and more of the same.  Her poems published abroad Turkey in several countries of magazines. She also writes short stories and fairytales for children. Her poems have been taken place in: the anthology of Minimal Stories from 252 Authors by Remzi Karabulut, the book of The Gates of Poets by Adil Okay, the anthology of World Poetry Yearbook both in 2013 and 2014 in China, the anthology of Çukurova Poets by Mustafa Emre, the anthology of Literature Platform Yearbook by Turan Karataş, the anthology of Mühür Publishing Yearbook. The Poem “My dress Hanging, There” was performed in Franz Kafka Finishing Thesis in Turkish Poetry.

In 1991, she has been the third best poet in the Poetry Contest held by Yeni Adana newspaper. One year later, in poetry contest of İskenderun Fest she has been the best poet of the year. Lastly she won the award of Mevlüt Kaplan Literature Contest 2015 and she invited some international festivals and she has been award with her poem; “PEACE” by the 5. International Literature and Poetry Contest of Galateo City. She has been award with her book “HAYAL DİVAN” by ENVER GÖKÇE POETRY CONTEST 2017 in most importent contest in Turkey.

She is also a member of Writers Union of Turkey, member of Turkish Literature associations, Council of Europen Writers, Pen Writers Association ( she is in peace committee) Now she is living in Istanbul, Turkey.

Her books:

  • Dar paçalı dizeler (Verses wıth narrow flares) (Yazılı Kağıt Publishing, 2014, Ankara)
  • Yokoluş Bir Sözcükse (Yasak Meyve Publishing, 2015, İstanbul)
  • Sihirli Değnek (Magic Wand) (for children) (Mühür Publishing, 2015, İstanbul)


once again a massacre, again on my feet
I am alive since there is a hope.
I have trouble
like being alive
since auschwitz
the world war I
changed nothing
the world war II
and even vietnam
my pains are constantly growing
my pains are constantly growing
I was hitler, I buried the jews
I killed the natives in Vietnam
and the suckling babies in gaza
I became americanized
I killed all the time, I can kill again
I am a human being on my feet, freedom
ballad seems to be my enlightenment
I am on my feet since there is a hope
I compose poetry I am a barbarian poetess
I draw the pictures of the daisies
I have my rules, my constitutions
I am the world longing for peace
yet arranging everything according to war
I am expecting peace
I am expecting peace.
Translation from Turkish : Mesut Şenol
the sounds of the bullets are now louder than bird calls
the sounds of the bullets are now louder than bird calls
in my grief fed geography…
everything is half done pending ;
love, democracy, beauty, peace etc…
in the black box of life
a bleeding but gullible communications
with a broken and non-organic shame
-have good wars
-have good weapons, sir
-the borders are liberated, to prickle and grudge !
-liberated, sir
human being can put up with anybody except himself
then he takes the date, the pigeon and the olive branch
to throw into the well of invisibility !
there are bird calls while resisting the past and the future
the sounds of bullet purify the races.
the civilization that produces the bloody shirts
would pile up the texts on sorrow axes
I don’t want to write anymore !
imageries throw up corpses.
what I wrote are not humans, their shadows.
the sounds of the bullets are now louder than bird calls
in my grief fed geography…
my lover, your heart now is the only place where I can live
to endure life…
the words are the pretext of life
edgar allen poe called out : love !
my raven life shouted : never ! never ! never !
we are exchanging very obscene words with you dear friend of pleasure
epicurus’ true student that is not cared about by the civilization
the out of fashion countesses and knights in our age supplanted our place.
I hide my obscene words; I starch and iron them
for the doomsday, my heart and pocket.
all of a sudden my self-confidence being unable to settle down unravels
my mystic loves of moses, my inspiring feelings for christ,
the most important of all, my glorious lyric captivity.
I can never live without my wings
says my raven life, I can also break the night !
while I was stitching the sexual coldness of peace with needle and thread,
I can rub my dreams with a pair of love.
I have an interest in the pain with an established personality
in the boastful night,
the exploration of a new era from its eyes:
resistance against my committing suicide and cruel ones of life !
resistance against pharaohs and many zeus !
resistance to the nylon prophets !
get an eiffel from everyone if you can
it is up to me to bleed time
it is up to me to be fooled by love…
beauty got jammed between the letters beaten by compassion.
“ah !” grumbles, “alack !” heaves a sigh
the business of “good” is all serene: in the tummy of the philosophers
it reigns for centuries.
Life : full of pages about hitler !
I throw words on and on for the sake of peace
it is not a bomb, and that’s why they don’t explode, they shake hands,
it is poetry right, they kiss, they kiss one another
you’d better to keep my inner world from words !
I live in the 21st century.
I would be losing the game if I step on the 22nd century’s line,
I would be out of the game like a kid.
a chocolate makes me intoxicated all the time,
a multiple grief harbors a non-existent tomorrow.
as radiating the friendship fed by the window of god
seems up to sorrow;
poetry goes to you, and the pretext is for me. you fell down at the heart of my world
siren calls, my bleeding ambulance is always on its way.
my silly and nonsense lover handed down from my childhood,
a memory saving me from the dark period…
Translated by Mesut Senol

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