Ode to Adana and the Adana Turks
O Adana, fierce in fire and flame,
Land of embers, where even the wind
Tastes of red pepper, sweat, and pride—
Your sky is low and burning bright,
A forge where tempers are hammered
And laughter echoes like a drumbeat.
You do not whisper.
You roar.
You mock the gentle and feed the bold.
Your streets wear dust like a crown,
Each alley brags of grilled meat and war stories,
And every man thinks himself a lion,
Tail wagging with swagger,
Eyes shaded in righteous heat.
O sons of Adana,
Your veins run thick with chili oil and ego,
Your curses are poetry,
Your loyalty — unpredictable.
You love hard, you hit harder,
You forgive like the sun forgives the stone—
Eventually, and only if it cracks.
You build cities on anger,
But gardens in your hearts.
Even the toughest among you
Sleeps like a child beside his mother.
Adana—
City of contradictions,
City of coal and cotton,
Of mosques and motorbikes,
Of passion that knows no border,
And pride that bows to no one.
You are not Istanbul,
You are not Ankara.
You are Adana—
And that is both threat and promise.
May your fires never cool.
May your kebabs never taste of compromise.
May your people remain
As loud, as stubborn,
And as wildly alive
As you’ve always been.