Newroz 2004

Sunset over Istanbul

From the window of a departing plane Only two hours to begin To savour My Turkey Stunned Fascinated And still unable to become aware Of where this latest adventure will take me And still unable to imagine The Diyarbakir of 21 March 2004 awaiting me Simply I fly I fly east In the red of the evening

And from here

From above In the white and orange lights Istanbul is simply An edge of Europe Joined by a very thin cord To an edge of Asia Nothing but a myriad of distant little lights Ever more distant Ever less distinguishable It is the life of an entire immense city That stays there turning and turning upon itself And I up there Ever higher Flying at over 980 km/h At 11,000 metres above sea level Towards another adventure Ready to enrich me with new experience With new values With new culture

UNKNOWN SOLDIER

A delegation goes to a place It brings a wreath of flowers for the unknown soldier If tomorrow A delegation comes to my Country And asks me: "Where is the tomb of the unknown soldier?" I will answer: "Your Excellency, On the bank of every canal On the steps of every mosque At the door Of every house Of every church Of every cavern On every mountain rock On the trees of every garden Of this Country On every span of earth Under every metre of sky Do not fear, bow Go ahead and lay the wreath of flowers" [Kurdish poem]

21/03/04 NEWROZ

a red green and yellow carpet

friendship and brotherhood on every face a painful cheerfulness making shine the eyes of millions of people gathered together to celebrate their strenuous struggle for rights still denied and women splendidly deep consumed by pain women who have seen husbands at war sons tortured or killed villages devastated and set on fire women who with the strength of their gazes and their smiles of suffering ask for help or simply understanding

I was never born, if I was born I have never lived, if I have lived I have never been free. A.Ocalan

We have learned to fly like birds, we have learned to swim like fish, but we have forgotten an easy and important art: living in brotherhood. A.Ocalan

I AM KURDISH

Despite poverty, deprivation and suffering I will resist with strength in the days that distress me, I am brave. I am not in love with angelic eyes With necks white as marble My heart yearns for rocks, mountains and peaks lost among the clouds. Great is my desolation, my misery and my misfortune. Never will I serve my enemy, never will I give him rest! I defy beatings, chains and torture. Let them reduce my body to pieces, I will shout with all my strength: I am Kurdish! [Kurdish poem]

22/03/04

With the moral duty to return to Italy and shout So that everyone may come to know Of the rights denied to this people Of the deaths and the disappearances Of the devastation and the torture Of the injustices and the deceits That have afflicted these people for years I continue to open My heart and my mind To the world

TO COUNT

If you can count The leaves of those gardens If you can count All the fish, big and small In that river flowing before you And if you can count All the birds at the time of migrations From north to south And from south to north Then I promise you that I will count The martyrs of my Country Kurdistan [Kurdish poem]

23/03/04

Painful Not being able to hold back the tears Before a mother Who Has lost everything A son in prison The hunger strike A son tortured A son a guerrilla On the mountains of Kurdistan A son murdered A son disappeared Painful Not being able to hold back the tears Before a mother Who Despite everything At almost 70 years old Still has the strength to fight So that her grandchildren May not have to live The tragedies her children have lived Before a mother Who Despite everything At almost 70 years old Still has the desire to hope In a better future

LOVE

If your love is rain I stand still, beneath it. If your love is fire, I sit on the flame, love of Kurdistan. My poems say As long as rain and fire exist No death, I will live! [Kurdish poem]

24/03/04

And to wake up after only three hours To avoid the risk of wasting Not even a moment Of this extremely engaging experience And to overcome At six in the morning The fear of the police The fear of the escort Of being continuously Listened to Followed Spied on The fear of finding yourself crossing The threshold of the barracks Or of the prison To be able to get out To run fast towards the outskirts To keep walking Undaunted Towards some camp To be able to understand To be able to do To be able to have a tangible reason To fight for To be able to collect true stories Of real people Who need my voice To shout to the whole world That they simply want To be Free!

A Kurdish child going to school

With his little smock bearing the words "Child of Turkey" a coloured balloon with the symbol of the AKP and the wish of a happy Newroz and then the cows grazing on the road the barefoot children playing with stones the old men standing staring into the void seated a street vendor of sweets a shoeshine boy a beggar someone gathering whatever might be useful from a rubbish bin someone walking on without aim and then the muezzin the plainclothes police the police with rifles the police in armoured vehicles and the vans of the various political parties roaming through the city in the grip of the election campaign and then the noise of the fighter jets flying low over our heads drowning out the voices of millions of wandering lives and countless denied existences cultures repressed rights violated and the usual suffering smile drawn on the faces of every woman and the usual very deep gaze colo

uring the dark face of every man

DEATH

When a leaf dies One of my letters dies When a spring dies A word of mine dies When a garden dies Part of my writings dies. But when you, little girl Of ten years You fell Dead, There died Ten of my poems [Kurdish poem]

25/03/04

Along the course of the Tigris

Longings for ancient wise civilisations Longings for old splendid worlds Along the course of the Tigris The nests of the storks And the oil extraction plants The fields sown with wheat And the construction sites of the dam The dam that will lead to drowning In the sweet water of the great river A heritage of humanity such as Hasankeyf The caves that make of these mountains A hospitable home The caves that make of these mountains A refuge for the guerrillas The will to fight for survival And the strength to fight for freedom Poverty and wealth united In one immensely deep whole And magical And the sun illuminating all this To make it shine before our eyes In all its sad And unjust reality