R O J A V A

I close my eyes and remember warm summer nights 

Spent on rooftops, mattresses spread out, spray bottles filled with water

Waving at neighbours, enjoying the rare breeze of a summer’s night.

My three sisters and I would laugh endlessly as our parents slept

Underneath the blanket of stars and an overzealous moon 

Watching over us, and we danced, we danced around with our hopes and our dreams while Singing to Jupiter and the trees.

On cold winter nights, it was the clanking of the pots and pans that 

Awoke us in the morning, underneath our covers, we etched a lifetime of 

Memories, now all a faded distant dream.

It was the chestnuts by the fire, and the sherbet for our guests, 

It was the long conversations over the hedge with a friendly neighbour, 

It was the young boy who brought us our warm bread in the mornings 

And the little geckos hiding by the air conditioner that frightened us, 

It was this and all of this, 

That I built my magical kingdom on. 

And now, a crumbling dynasty of hope.

First came the whispers and murmurs of a revolution, a spring, 

Then came the protests, followed by a siege, and all of a sudden, 

Our hometown was destroyed by madness and our streets were overflowing with 

Black flags with white writings and perverted tendencies, 

A betrayal of the innocent, an angry cry, tears of blood from the sky, it wasn’t a bomb,

it was three and more, followed by the creation of streams of light blood,

dark blood, all blood Blends, of friends and foes, the city was exposed.  

From cradle to grave we were born into a war, 

Our fairytale life was nothing but a dissolved rumour. 

Scenes of family and friends fleeing, images of fallen faces, feeling afraid and famished, 

We were now uninvited from our homes, unwanted by our people, unwelcome by all. 

Our misfortune was a means to an end. 

They didn’t care about the chestnuts or the rooftops,

they had no intention of listening to our hopes and dreams,

they were monsters from my unimaginable childhood nightmares, 

And they were here to stay. 

We fought and fought, we buried the dead, 

We buried Sheereen, Berivan, Ruhan and too many to count. 

I look to the sky to see a glimmer of hope, 

But all I see is an untrusted enemy, a betrayal. 

You were supposed to protect me. I wished upon all the stars, I wished for protection. 

And now the cycle repeats, it’s different faces and a different flag, 

But the decree is the same by all intents. 

Our mother, a lover of the mountains, of the sun, of the earth, 

Now a body of regret, “Why?” She would ask herself every day as she visits my grave, and waters my flowers, “Why did I stay?” She would ask as she prayed, 

And “why” she would utter at the world? 

“Why?”

untitled

My Mother Tongue shakes the balance of your state,

My Women scare your men into slate,

My Mountains have helplessly observed our fates

As seasons pass and winters press, and foundations shake.

A people whom you’ve never seen

Are born with wings to fly over the scene

Of blood and bodies of the badly betrayed

My children are the cradle of death, here watch them laid.

And as the canons growl and howl

You’re left with an odourless foul,

This is your attempt for an angry fix to enrich your soul

With the abolishment of a Kurdish whole.

Our heroes, wounded will not bow

Their souls fixed on one vow.

Our poets and soldiers fight hand in hand

Creating vibrations over your so called land.

Blindly the world watches, only they don’t see

They don’t see that the Kurds are already free

Free from ignorance, greed and hate

Filled with Azadi we recreate.

We will not weep over those we mourn,

Those very roses that cut us with their thorn

Leaving us abandoned, stateless, and rights-less,

Will regret the day they chose to repress

A nation so grand, no matter how much they try,

Kurds will fight back and defy,

Pry all you want, we will not die,

And if guns and barrels are your only conviction

We will fight your attempt at extinction

We are Kurds and we have one reply

You’ve betrayed us enough, this is goodbye.

16

unrehearsed words unclenched

slowly,

onto untainted hearts

welcomed

holly, unwisely he loves her,

Nothing left but a desolate heart. 

Mardin
15/05/2019

Mona Lisa

& her thoughts

Your friends are staggered in the rooms before and after you, while you stay stagnant in an empty, light, mustard yellow room. Everyday you see thousands of people, everyday you stand still knowingly posing for the hundreds of photos, yet you can’t help but feel alone, isolated in the glass box that separates you from the rest of the world. A smile is what you’re known for, and yet you wonder why, “Why does my smile bring such a grand allure? Why?” You ask yourself how is it that people cannot see the hollowness in your eyes, for you wear it like a scarlet letter for the townspeople to see.

There is a melancholic nature to you Mona Lisa, your eyes are sad. You watch the various faces come in and out, and you stand still like you always do, wondering whether they’re truly appreciating you or basking in superiority for being able to visit you. The more you look the more you know, you know this is not how you want to be remembered, this is not how you want to live, because when the camera’s disappear and the people are gone, you’re left in a darkened room in the middle of the night, alone, no companion, no friends, when you’re finally free to breathe and break free from your almost smile, you are left with an everlasting loneliness. You can hear your friends next door talking amongst themselves, laughing at the tourist who had to be escorted out because he dared touch one of the paintings, the Roman Antiquities come to life and start walking around, they stretch their stiff legs and visit the Gudea  to discuss the value of religion. Delacroix’s tiger’s come to life, roaming the halls of The Louvre hungry for their next prey. Your friends used to  visit you but they saw the sadness in your eyes, don’t see the grandeur of your portrait, and have since been discouraged from coming again.

Oh Mona Lisa, you’ve forgotten to use your words, you haven’t spoken in forever and you’re longing to scream is on the tip of your tongue but you’ve forgotten to. You’re saddened to never see the halls of The Louvre, visit Liberty, leading the people, peak in to visit Bathsheba at Her Bath. You often wonder, what if you were La Belle Ferronnière and she was you. Oh it must be extraordinary to exceptionally ordinary, to walk freely and breathe fresh air, to go beyond the four walls that you’re enclosed in. You lock eyes with everyone that come to see you, you wonder what it would be like if you switched out of your dress and switched into pants, place your hair up in a bun and walk away, visit the Seine, walk by the water, go in and out of the gift shops, oh how wonderful it must be to have someone to buy souvenirs too.

But your reality is that you will forever be enclosed in a glass box, bound by four walls, in an empty room filled with thousands of people. You will forever be alone as the crowds grow bigger. Mona Lisa, you are the best known, the most visited, the most written about, the most sung about, the most industrialized, and the most critical work of art in the world, and yet no one knows how misunderstood you are.

Mardin
19/03/2019