Did we get wet in the same rain?

Did we get wet in the same rain?

I am angry.

Something keeps bugging me.

I think of some people I know in the Justice and Development Party (AKP).

Such as Deputy Prime Minister Bülent Arınç...

* * *

It’s night time. He’s talking with his wife.

I know that Fatih, who they lost at 17, is also on that table each night.

Whenever he remembers, he starts crying. We know it...

They know and they feel...

That in other parts of Turkey there are tables with lost sons.

We know that only those who have lost a son can understand the loss of another.

Then I become curious. What do they feel, what do they think about Berkin, Burakcan... Ali İsmail... for the other children?

* * *

I am curious...

The money that flows out of shoe boxes.

The money saved in their houses.

Swimming pools worth $600 million.

Six villas bought for 14 million Turkish Liras by a “talented Mr. Lawyer,” who just graduated from law school last year.

The audio recordings about zeroing 30 million euros.

Do they talk about it?

* * *

Or else do they simply not talk about it and rather prefer to think of how to make ends meet?

* * *

What do other people from the AKP think at dinners, when the night falls upon them and they are left alone.

Do they look to their sons and daughters and also look at the other “Mr. Talented Ripley,” and ask themselves this question?

“Were the roads we walked together the same...

Did we really get wet in the same rain...”

* * *

“Why do only shoes come out of our shoe boxes...”

Do they harbor any doubts? Do they turn to their children and say, “Are we too naive? Did we teach to our children this damned naivety and honesty?”

* * *

In silent nights; I look from the window.

I want to tell to those silent people in the AKP:

It only does you good

To put a flower on the graves of the sons lost.

A warm hug for the lost sons of others...

* * *

Each mother, each father is proud of his/her child.

Each lost or living son is proud of his father.

This is the nicest picture of a family, be it conservative or not.

* * *

If what you call talent is in shoe boxes.

If you can measure talent with money saved.

If that talent is made up of things hidden in silver trays, below the chocolates...

Let both our and your children be Mr. and Mrs. Talentless Ripley.

After seeing all these things, let’s hug our children more tightly.

Because in this age it is better not to be in the shadow of a father, but to walk in life with modest, honorable steps.

And to stay honest...

That’s the real talent...