Prowling the bookstores on Iskitlal Street, Istanbul’s famous pedestrian walk-way, I came on a volume of poems in English Translation by Cahit Kulebi (1917-1997).  This  one is

Children

Your fate, my boy
Is the fate of all children.
What harm did the twentieth century not do?
It didn’t even spare the very young.

A child resembles
A delicate bird,
He needs a home, bread
And to be kissed and comforted.

In this world, my boy,
There are many cities where
Children roam around warily
Like frightened birds.

Cahirt Kulebi

Translated by VickieTuncer and Baran Tuncer