I was born before Maraş took the the title 'kahraman' (hero); my identity card says Maraş; therefore, perhaps I find it more appropriate to simply say 'Maraş'. Maraş, as it was called when it did not lose its centre. The social, economic, cultural and spiritual status of the province may change when it is positioned according to a new centre. There are those who see it as a gain, and there are those who see it as a loss. Maraş always looks the same to me spiritually. Its economic indicators may have changed a lot, but in spirit it is the same. It still protects the Grand Mosque for more than 500 years, and it succeeds in protecting it. There is no clock tower; it does not need a clock tower. It is still drying his pepper, adding real salep to his ice cream. Towards the summer, it goes up to the highland until the autumn passes. In short, Maraş is still Seljuk. Still Beylik. Still nomad. Maraş is resisting in a way that is unique to itself. It knows how to resist in a natural order.

How well does Maraş defend itself today? As a provincial city, Maraş, which defended itself on February 12 and did not lose its independence, how much does it defend itself today? Which system does it resist, which corruption is Maraş famous for its stance against? Does it make room for himself as an 'Anatolian Tiger' with his ferocity, or does it say "I will tear the mountains (Ahır Mountain) apart, I will overflow (from Aksu)"? How much can Maraş express this? How loud? Maraş is one of the settlements that took matters into its own hands. It showed this feature in the Turkish War of Independence, as well as in Turkish literature. In modern Turkish poetry, Maraş stands in a place with personality and preserves its personality. Maraş, the hometown of an interesting and solid poet like Cahit Zarifoğlu, seems to have determined the place and position of Zarifoğlu, whom it raised, in modern Turkish poetry. Maraş is the cradle not only of Zarifoğlu, but also of other interesting poets such as Alaeddin Özdenören and Erdem Bayazıt. Original and kind poets have been raised in Maraş at all times and in all periods. There is something in the soil, air and water of Maraş, a fire… It does not limit itself to the province or the outer wall of the province. It is a proud city; it is confident and takes care of itself as if it is in a central position. Just like the poetry of the poet Zarifoğlu, boldly, surprisingly, brand new; with a loud voice just like the poet Bayazıt; just like Pakdil, without giving in; just like Özdenörens, with a deep curiosity…

It knows that it is standing on the shore of a giant depression pit that stretches all the way to the Dead Sea. It knows how to see this tectonic depression that starts from the foothills of Ahır Mountain, on which she leans, as the traces of a cultural collapse. It is self-enclosed. It does not grow the province in its garden to the extent that it will get exposed to spiritual depression; it grows roses. The old Maraş houses have inner gardens, these spaces, which are integrated with the house, are closed to the outside. The back of the house is turned outwards and its face looks towards this inner garden. Maraş is a city which owns its personality and property with bigotry. Maraş has stood there for centuries, always caring about Istanbul; its face and heart are always turned towards Istanbul. Isn't it that Fatih of Istanbul married the daughter of Dulkadiroğulları. Isn't it that the ancestors of Necip Fazıl, from Istanbul, go back to the Dulkadiroğulları on his father's side.