Let It Be

Picture a classic dramatic moment in English literature or film—say, someone staring up at the stormy sky or pleading into the void:

• God save us! or
• Heaven help me!

And as I hear a phrase like that, I realise it’s a brilliant setup for one of the most fascinating grammatical features of the Turkish language.

Take “God save us.” The verb save is sitting right there in the second-person singular imperative.

Of course, Imperative Mood is just a traditional grammatical term—a dusty, Latin-derived label we assume is exclusively for barking orders (“Stop!”). In everyday usage, an imperative can easily stretch to mean a plea or a prayer.

Turkish in the Air

Let’s see how this plays out in Turkish. Consider the ubiquitous phrase Allah korusun (lit. “May God save”).

You can’t spend two days in Turkey without seeing it plastered on every second vehicle.

• The verb korumak means “to save, protect.”
• The suffix -mak/-mek forms the infinitive.
• Drop that suffix from the stem, and you get the second-person singular imperative: Koru! (“Save!”)—a direct command.

But what about korusun? That is also the imperative mood, but… (drumroll, please) in the third person!

How does a third-person imperative even work? By default, we think of the imperative as a closed circuit: first person (me, the speaker), second person (you, the listener). What on earth is a third person doing here? The third person doesn’t belong in a direct command!

Except in Turkish, they do. That’s because the Turkish imperative is actually a subtype of the optative—the mood of desire and wishing. And wishes don’t have to be hurled directly at someone’s face; they can be tossed out “into the air.” Compare the vector of a direct, aggressive command (“Drop dead!”) versus a generalized third-person projection (“May he drop dead!” or “Here’s hoping…”).

Sultans, Rains, and Bending Reality

The third-person Turkish imperative is often translated into English using auxiliary verbs like let and may in the imperative mood:

• Geçmiş olsun! — May it pass! (A standard wish for a speedy recovery from illness or misfortune).
• İçsin! — Let him/her drink! (Picture a grand ruler pointing a finger at someone too low-ranking to speak to directly).

In English, we use similar elevated formulas: “Long live the King!” or “May fortune smile upon you.” It’s not a raw, aggressive order barked at the universe; it’s a respectful “wish sent into the ether.”

While Indo-European languages mostly relegated the optative to dusty historical footnotes (leaving us only with fossilized snippets like “Be that as it may” or “Suffice it to say”), Turkic languages kept the third-person imperative as a vibrant, hyper-productive everyday tool. To a Turk, it’s not archaic poetry—it’s baseline daily life:

• Kolay gelsin! — The ubiquitous greeting to anyone working, literally meaning: “May it become easy!”
• Bu kitap Onur’un mu? Baksın. — “Is this Onur’s book? Let him take a look.”
• Mehmet geldi. — Girsin / Beklesin. — “Mehmet is here. — Let him come in / wait.”
• Yağmur yağmasın. — “May it not rain”. (Here’s hoping it stays dry!)

When a Turk says Allah korusun or Yağmur yağmasın, they aren’t grovelling before nature or trying to boss the cosmos around. They are playing it much smarter. Instead of wrestling reality head-on, they simply shape the rules of the world by whispering what ought to happen into the wind.

Let it be, universe! Let it be!😉