People of Maraş,

I was not born in your hometown. But I come from an old family there, from father to son. I can consider myself one hundred percent from Maraş. I have no honor to add to Maraş. But I have the honor of being from Maraş. I carried this honor in me not as a random feeling, but as a systematic conciousness.

In his sultanate days, my grandfather, who carried one of the greatest titles given by the sultan, used to say at every opportunity:

“You should not be proud of your grandfather's duty and rank, but you should be proud of the place where he came from and the degree of prestige in that place.”

And my grandfather used to tell me about Maraş, the people of Maraş, the stone, soil, vineyard, garden, water and air of Maraş, with his eyes drawn into a deep pit of homesickness.

Your town has been a land of wonders in my eyes ever since. The land of wonders... The lands of legend and the ideal life of those lands that leaves the human mind in despair, the bed of movements and events that have gone beyond the ordinary time and space limits and reached beyond the dry life frameworks... The explanation of these movements and events is like the description of miracles. It is inexplicable, cannot be described, and is not caught in the web of logic. Its laws are unknown, its motives are hidden, its reasons are invisible. The world created by events of this kind is intertwined with the lower world we live in, but it is a different world. And humankind is so in need of these other worlds within its world that the thing that human beings need most to see and do is a miracle. And the miracles have different kinds. Even if everyone is not ready for a miracle in his own creation, he wanders longingly. To transcend one, to go one step further, to walk in endless distances, caught up in an eternal evolution, without consenting to stop at any stage. Man arises from interfering with each other's evolutionary law between two elements. Here, man, the greatest representative of the universe, uses only one tool in his struggle with his desire and with everyone and everything, which is his spirit. Our spirit saves us from being a moldy substance, it comforts our corpse doomed to evil, it aspires us to a supernatural life and teaches us the science of taking substance under our will like a toy.

The source of all powers and the mother of all miracles is the spirit. Let everyone think as they want: And while the times revolve around the principles they know, I was born a spiritualist, I will die a spiritualist.

I say all this for Maraş, the land of lions, valiant beds and epics, whose tale I have been listening to since my childhood days, and it turns out that Maraş is the place that will make the earth accept and acknowledge a dream world. It turns out that the model for Ferhat, who pierced the mountains for Şirin, the Anatolian spirit would attain one of the unique manifestations when it was under the most severe insult there... It turns out that Europe, which had lost all its potentials to the steel mechanisms they had carved with their own hands, would suddenly break down with all their inventions and devices.

For me, Maraş is not just a move that comes naturally and whose balance comes directly from within, it is not a land that has fought from its child in the cradle to its old man in the armchair and expelled its enemy. It dealt with the ambiguous spirit struggle in the twentieth century and gave his answer. After giving this answer, it neither made its own explanation nor made others do it. The people of Maraş continued to live their natural life, retreated in the dignity and silence of mature people who had done their duty.