Ayhan Inal

Her lover for years,

I love Istanbul.

Beylerbeyi, Küçükyali,

I love Istanbul.

I love Istanbul

With her sweet accent,

Her poverty, her sufferings,

Her Kumburgaz and her Sile.

Sultanahmet, Dolmabahçe,

From inside

To outside,

Are like lace work on canvas.

Visitors wear out the threshold

Of mosques where the Qur’an is recited.

Its corners are sacred.

I love Istanbul.

Our best ornament.

We’re grateful to Him,

Our heaven on earth,

I love Istanbul.

The Bosphorus has no equal, the Golden Horn is blue,

Let’s walk in the moonlight in Küçüksu.

How can we tire of this city?

Ayhan Inal

Her lover for years,

I love Istanbul.

Beylerbeyi, Küçükyali,

I love Istanbul.

I love Istanbul

With her sweet accent,

Her poverty, her sufferings,

Her Kumburgaz and her Sile.

Sultanahmet, Dolmabahçe,

From inside

To outside,

Are like lace work on canvas.

Visitors wear out the threshold

Of mosques where the Qur’an is recited.

Its corners are sacred.

I love Istanbul.

Our best ornament.

We’re grateful to Him,

Our heaven on earth,

I love Istanbul.

The Bosphorus has no equal, the Golden Horn is blue,

Let’s walk in the moonlight in Küçüksu.

How can we tire of this city?