We Are Not Brothers (Translated) Poem by Dorukhan Baris Oguzcan

We are not brothers,
We were born of different mothers.
You grew up with golden spoons,
I roamed barefoot through dusty dunes.

You had toys, warm beds, sweet dreams,
I had hunger, cold, and silent screams.
You called the world your playroom wide,
I learned to fight, to run, to hide.

You looked down with pity or pride,
While I carried my pain deep inside.
You were taught to rule, to own, to lead,
I was told to obey, to serve, to plead.

We are not brothers—how could we be?
You chained the sun, and caged the sea.
I dug the earth with bloodied hands,
While you claimed thrones and distant lands.

You say "brother" now—
But where were you then?
When I starved in alleys,
You dined in dens.

So don't call me brother,
We share no past.
Your comfort was built
On my outcast.


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