giving up the surreal for a while

Your face,
Your eyes,
All the beauties in the world.
Is you.

...

I have been home since some hours now.
Watching the enemy inside my house.

How closer can you get?
No, say it...
How closer can I get to you?
Inside you?

The enemy is inside us.

The enemy is an alien.
A bodysnatcher.
An occupier.

A Turk.

...

The memory of you is the only thing that keeps me going.
Your smile is my struggle,
Your laugh is my victory.

...

Yes, I still love you.

Yes, I miss you too.

No, I will wait, thank you.

Hear me, don't listen to me. I know you will remember. Forget everything I am saying. Forget everything. Just remember this: forget everything. Just be. Be yourself and you will win.

wow... life is such a beatiful thing... what am I looking for? what do I want? and how things turn out, just to make you aware of yourself... is sadness a part of it? Definitelly... goes without saying, in fact, but hard to appriciate, that sadness is an integral part of it, provided that it does not become the only place and that it doesn't turn into dispair... Keep looking for it, keep wanting it and love the sadness you feel... It's ok... it's more then ok, it makes you whole... It tells you to fight, it is in fact nice... It is the opposite of lonliness, or aloneness, and it gives you the legs to stand, the wings to fly and the heart to fight... In short, you ARE even more. You will love it.

Praise yourself... praise your life that takes your hand through your attempts to connect and leaves you alone on the other side. You will look back and smile... You will feel the past in your skin and you will move on. You are now looking forward, excited about new sadnesses... You are in fact looking forward to it, knowing that all you are doing is being yourself, wanting and looking for IT. You are excited... You are happy and you are alone in the universe... You ARE the universe... You are the universe: how can you hate sadness or try to escape from it? How can lonliness be a problem, or even true? YOU ARE THE UNIVERSE. Aloneness or lonliness is not even relevant. You see it now.

My love the other,
I am no longer looking for you.
I don't love you
I just am
and the moment is mine.
Tomorrow,
When I meet you on the street,
Or on the train
Or wherever,
I will look at you.
You will look at me too.
But you will think
You will remember.
I'll just look.
I'll look at your blue coat
black bag
white shoes.
Will you have a skirt?
I will look at the waves of it too.
I might catch a glimt of your skinn
Watch your hand
Watch you fingers if you sit before me on the train.
I will look at you sitting.
I will watch your thoughts
Paint them in the colours you are.
Will you run out?
Will you run into me?
What will you do?

I will be there,
Looking at you,
Loving you.

still looking for you

I will no longer look at you
your words have no meaning any more
I will ignore your smile,
your skin
your neck
and I will no longer admire your beauty

don't ask me why.
Why do you remember?
Knowing that memory is age, is habit, is death?

Do you really love me?
Why are you then killing me by timing my life?
I will say to you nothing anymore.
I will stop myself from missing you
I will ignore my broken heart.
I will tell my heart that no lies are to break it.
I will disown my heart if it continues not to recognise lies.

Look at yourself through my eyes and call yourself with my tongue.
Don't you ever miss yourself?

My heart smiles at me.
I smile back.
We know.
We can wait to the end and beyond.

the kurdish experience

It is often underestimated, not least by the kurds themselves, how important our freedom is. We are the example of an unlived life and our struggle is for life itself.

What is the Kurdish life? I don't know. No one knows because we haven't been able to live our lives. We have always been forced to deal with the occupiers of our land, the hijackers of our lives. No one can claim this to be our life! Our struggle is to fullfill ourselves and therefore is our struggle as important as our freedom. And therefore it is vital that we accept nothing short of total freedom. There is nothing with the present situation to like, there is nothing witht the present situation to accept. And to those who want us to compromise on our freedom, I say this: do it yourself! Let me come and impose myself on you, determine the framework of your life, hopes and dreams, restrict your freedom according to my own desires and interests, and if you accept that, then I will accept slavery too.

My call upon all Kurds is to show endurance. Free your mind from the chains of slavery and imagine a life in freedom. What would that look like? How would our lives be if we were free? Imagine that and never restrict yourself to the circumstances. They, the circumstances, mean nothing. You heart, your wishes and your dreams are the real thing. Do you dare to dream? Remember that the colonialist also wants to control your dreams. So, your struggle starts with your SELF. Free your SELF and you will be free. Accept nothing short of total freedom and you will find your honorouble place among free peoples. You will only contribute to the humanity and enjoy life if you are free. The world is waiting for your true colours. You are beatiful and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You are valuable if you are being yourself. And you can't be yourself if you are not free.

Don't hate, because hate belongs to the small-minded. See your enemy, the masters of darkness; the few "powerful" people you can count with the fingers of your hand. Know yourself and you will blow them away. Your enemy is not powerful but it is you that are afraid. Are you afraid to live? Are you afraid of freedom? Are you aware of your noble life? The moment you become aware is the moment you become the master of your self and that's the very moment the masters of darkness will wither away.

See you there.

Love, peace and freedom...

Here's a poem in Kurdish:

Dengek tê min, gazî te dike
Berxê diroka xwe, mirina te wê heftrengîn be
Enîya te bila vekirî
Bi kêfa xwe bimeşe ser neyarê hebûna xwe
Wê jîyana te zora mirinê jî bibe
Wê heftrengên mirina te bibe sora hêrsa te jî
Keska axa te
Spîya ronahîya dilê te
Zêrîna porê yara te

Tuyê bijî
Ji mirina xwe netirse
Tuyê nemri.

The First Grand Man is calling you:
Hey, the First Free Rebel!
Are you afraid to die?
Don´t be!
Claim your life,
Don´t worry
You won´t die....

kurds are nervous

I was to speak of Dr. Kemal: an academic who not so wisely wrote two articles with foul language targeted at the Barzani family and travelled to south of Kurdistan. There he got arrested and eventually sentenced to 30 years of imprisonment. Not that I will do the issue justice with these few words but I want to point out that I always appriciate heroes that put themselves under fire because they have a function. Say whatever you want about the method of Dr. Kemal but the whole event has showed us that freedom cannot be taken lightly, by anyone. The "slave" tends to reflect the "master" when he doesn't appriciate his own sitation and realise that there is something deeply important to gather from the otherwise unwanted condition of "slavery". For instance, the white man will never ever, no matter how "liberal" or "humanistic" he may be, truelly appriciate and understand what the black man is going through. Feelings cannot be simualted. That´s why in Europe a small person will take on a costume and tranform him/herself into a overweight person just to see what the reactions are towards him/her from the society. The black man experiences reactions that the white man cannot experience. The same with the Kurds. We experience something that the Turks, Persians and Arabs cannot possible imagine. We know how it is to have one's life hijacked by others. We know how it is to live DESPITE a state, while others have their lives enhanced by the services of the state. We know. That knowledge should contribute to our maturity, to our humanity. We the oppressed need to understand that there is something wrong with the way things are and that WE are the pionieers of true development. Our mission is to teach the oppressiors how to be human. We are to teach them how things are done. And the moment we do what they used to do, we have but wasted our time and showed oss being none the wiser. There will be no difference then between oss.

We cannot become oppressors!

A freedom based on force and insecurity is not real.

But there is no cause for panic. We kurds are just a bit nervous because we are winning for the first time... it will pass...

The Kurdish government and state in Iraq is learning how to behave like one.

You see,
there was once a time when the moon had no reflection on Kurdish waters;

a time when the wind blew fire;

the sun was frozen and earth non-existent;

But now the kurdish child is learning to walk, while the arrogant know-alls are nervous, scared, not trusting themselves and afraid of the future... needlessly.

It will pass...

Remember,
there was a time when there was only the endless struggle. Tears were nothing but salty water, blood red liquid and the body just flesh. There was a time when time had stopped and tomorrow far away.

Something is happening today. It's called


All we have to do is believe in our own ability to be free.

A new year, a new day

Decided to get in line a little and use the date provided by the blogg-providers.

The bird flue killed three children in Kurdistan. A Turkish minister, who appeared to be a Kurd by his accent, told the press (I paraphrase, of course. You know how they speak) that Kurds were ignorant and unaducated and therefore should blame themselves for the deaths. This is him, son of a Kurdish mother, looking down on his own, just to see himself in level with his masters:

His name is Mehdi Eker and he is from Diyarbekir, the heart of Kurdistan. These are the children in question, dressed in school uniform:


You see their faces, you see their eyes and likely smiles, you see their names and you see the word "mir" underneath the names of the first three. "Mir" is a Kurdish word deriving from "mirin", meaning "death". "Mir" is then "has died". The fourth of them, Ali Hasan, is not dead but in coma. Is he dead as I write these words? I don't know. Does it matter? Yes and no. Yes, because it matters to his family (I won't pretend to be sharing the feelings of his family towards his condition). No, because a child dies every three seconds somewhere in the world. A child dies every three second and that child doesn't have to die. He or she dies because those in power don't care about his or her death and he or she dies because those who do or should care don't care about using their own power or not even aware of their own power. In any case, we may consider Ali Hasan, the fourth child, the child whom the Turkish state has branded with red stamp, as dead.

Do you know, sweet boy
That you were robbed of your life
Long before your picture appeared in the newspaper?

When the Turkish minister, dog of the thiefs, called Mr Eker or Right Honorable Gentleman by the European judges remembered the Kurdish victims with disgust, he humbly and dutifully warned the Turkish population, those on the other side, to please be careful, adding that his government would do anything in his power to protect.

Sweet boy,
Look in the eyes of the Right Honorable Gentleman
before you say goodbye.
Remember his face.
On your return, you will look for him
and find him among the rats.

He will want to hear a kind word.
Give it to him and belittle him even more.
He will want a smile, your smile.
Give that to him too.
Belittle him with your own humanity.

We Kurds have to make our own human revolution: become aware of our own worthiness and dignify our lives with our noble hearts. No murderous mind will dare to look down on us then. No liar will find his way through us then. Our Jamaican brother once said: "The harder they come, the harder they'll fall".

We will win because we are beatiful.

They are ugly.

Good news: the two Kurdish regions in the Kurdish Federal State in Iraq are now united.



I will speak of them sentensing a stupid and unworthy man to 30 years' prison another time.

Free Dr. Kemal!

at the beggining there was everything...

... and the everything continued to be - together with nothingness, in shape of time and some space, and it took me all the way to 13th december 2005 (has been feeling like 2006 since several months), 10.10 o'clock and here I am in my room, revealing myself to others, including you. My name is Soro, a brother to all Kurds, son of the First Free Rebel and the recarnation of the First Grand Man.

I will make you read my dreams, thoughts and deeds. You may allow yourselves to say a word and I am putting forward to you that that word does not have to be of "substance", as you claim no right to judge your own words in my space. I put forward that all your words you allow yourself to choose to send my way will be of substance. I am the judge and I say you are fine.

I will describe myself to you through my watching of others, including you. I now hear voices of children coming from below my window and no sun is yet, and won't be for another several months, apparent; only its breath brightening the matter, including you and your eyes.

I look at you looking at me and love life, the skin that you have carried since your birth and the stories of dust on that very skin. Are you aware? Look at yourself at times and do nothing else. I love you as you are and I do miss you very much.

I hope you will forget. I want to see a new you next time I look into your eyes so don't forget to erase the memories. They are no use anyway. But remember only me, not me looking at you, not me kissing you. Remember only me being you and you will be too and we will begin anew.

I will write to you again soon...

Soon is now, 15th December, apparantly still 2005.

I was shaken by something that happened about 3 hours ago. The power of the beast overtook my self and I was lost among the weak and the afraid. I saw myself as I can be, ie one of my selves and I turned into nothing. Nothing is good when alone, contemplating, but not when a fellow human being is near-by, demanding your attention, remembering and making you remember.

What was that?

How is power maintained? How is control maintained? How is control and power established, worked through the minds and maintained? How do they do that?

A Turkish TV channel. A Turkish discussion program. A Turkish journalist, two Turkish racist politicians and a Kurd. The Kurd is surrounded, mostly from within. He had a weak mind, weak beliefs and a weak faith. The Turks were strong. They were in Turkey, defending a state; the same state that had brought them up to do just that. The Kurd was without a safety net. He was alone, by himself, defending a whole nation oppresed. He name was Brahim Guclu, "guclu" meaning "powerful" in Turkish. He was not powerful, because he had allowed the enemy to sneek in. He was not powerful because he had no self-awareness. He was not powerful because he wasn't aware that he was among the enemy. He had thought that an already-made strategy of argument-presentation with a postmodern smile would be sufficient. He had made himself one of them and that was his mistake.

He was too comfortable to the degree that one of the racists could point at him with his finger and say "will you shut up or should I make you to?". The Kurd became quite. "Please", he said, "let us be nice to each other". He had lost the battle of minds from then on.

I died with him. The popets of the enemy-state, including the journalist, sat around me and my Kurdish borther and ate from our flesh, drinking our blood and laughing out another victory. The beast had yet again won a battle.

How should we win the war? I saw them. The fear that they put in me was inside them. How can I close myself to that fear? How can I prevent that fear from coming to me? By loving them?

Maybe. But certainly by being in touch with my humanity. I am human and I will defeat the beast.

I saw my borther not taking his struggle seriously, I saw him being sarcastic. That is not to do! That is justifying the laughter of the beast. No laughter of the beast is justified. Life is not a game, certainly not the pain of my people. The very pain that my people is too numb to feel.

We will feel, not only our own pain, but also the pain of the beast. We will also see the racist animals to nothingness and lift them up to the human level, teach them a few manners and send them off to their own homes. We will do that because we are truely storng.

...

So, how are you my love? Are you still the other? Well, let my body contain yours, your breath comfort me, me sleep in your arms and I promise you that in my dream we will fly.

(I will tell you the story of Mîrze Biheme who kills the dragon and the daughter of the king who, dipping her hand in the blood of the dragon, puts it on the back of him, another time. I will also find you a picture you like.)

No picture yet, at this hour of the 16th day of december, nor will I tell the story of the hero and the dragon now. But this I will say and I say it almost as a revelation, an insight.

You remember how I was feeling about my death and the death of my brother, inflicted upon us by the murderous Turkish racists powered by our own fear. We were down, but not out. We would give the beats a lesson in humanity and send them off to their homes.

I looked around to see my fellow Kurds. They were down too, disheartened and fighting among themselves. I saw them in Paltalk. Afraid of mentioning the truth, they were giving voice to an imagined victory, talking about how well Mr. Guclu did and what bastards those Turkish racists were. They were "positive thinkers", or rather "positive wishers". (I am leaving this space blank, my love, and will come back to it later: the kurdish mind is in turmoil)

I woke up this morning and my first vision of thought was this: those two Turkish racists and the journalist with no honour were just the popets of the enemy-state. I had mentioned that yesterday too. But who are we, me and my brother? This is the crucial point. Compared to them, who are we?

Aren't we the sons of a noble branch of people who have, despite eveything, remained alive and fighting for their freedom?

I will tell you more later. Walk beside me, without holding my hand. Say no word and then hold my hand. We will walk far and find home. The birds will sing the winds into our wings and we will fly.

...

Bread is born

Out speaking me with you

Love blue bird stealing the tea-bag

Love is from global tin

plane life was bible

bible was blue bird

tea-bag bible out

bread bird fly

...

Certainly no image will do in this dark room. None matters, only you but only if you erase your memories first. Every time. Only then. Only you.

...

Once upon an eternity, there was a little boy, who loved the wonderous things (including you) around him, looked at one of those things. "Hello you", he said, "how are you?". The thing looked at the boy and bit his tongue off. The boy died.

Again upon the same eternity, the very same boy, thinking that a tongue must be unnecessary("why would the thing cut my tongue off otherwise?"), looked at another thing and reached for its hair. The thing bit his hand off. The boy cried and smelled the blood coming from his hand. His tummy cried. He looked at his other hand and saw a monster. He was afraid of himself. From that day on, he was no longer among the things. He was now only waiting to have his head cut off. Death was liberty where life was no longer fun. The things (including you) had hijacked his smile.

He loved no more.

...

The boy smiled again when he realised that all was a dream; that he had all parts of his body at place and that his mind was playing tricks on him.

He loved.

Sure he did. He didn't know any other way. The moon will brighten your face little boy and the whole world will give way for the sun to shine into your heart.

...

This is not the picture I promised you.

...

Do you like this one? This is Mr. Guclu, bullied by the Turkish racist. Do you want this to be the picture I promied you?

The mystic law and a wonderous life in the 17th: I saw my brothers standing up for the crying boy, telling the beast to back off and I saw the slaves (that would be the people of PKK) questioning their masters (that would be the leaders of the PKK) and speak up for Kurdistan. Because what Mr. Guclu had done was telling the truth of the Kurds, calling the Kurdish land by its proper name (Kurdistan) and raising the Kurdish flagg, albeit shaking in the entire body. He had broken the silance, said the unsaid, done the undone and what the racists thought was undoable. He had told the truth and masters of darkness were caught off guard, having left their sunglasses back at home. He had made history. He was the hero.

He was the hero, my love, wounding the dragon. I am just an observer, a storyteller. The boy will kill the dragon and the bloody hand of the king's daughter will lift the land up to the skies.

The boy smiles again. He is about to lift off and take his next nap among the clouds, looking down on the Wan Lake and chase the moon dancing among the dark-blue waves.

...

My love,

Will you come to visit me? I will say no word but listen to you all night long. I will watch you move your lips, touch your hair and look away. I will smell your skin, close my eyes and listen your breath. I will make the world ours and us the world. Will you come to me tonight?

I will make you listen to Lawikê Metînî and we will fly away into a little story of two lovers. We will think of nothing and vigirously fight every thought trying to come through to us. We will be one and we won't compromise on that all night. Tomorrow will not exist, nor any past. Will you be there with me?

Did you take the picture? The crying boy... Mr. Guclu didn't, I am sure, cry but only among all the political talk perhaps had a silent moment of contemplation where he remembered a little incident somewhere in the past. We all are alone, you know, and our pain is with us from the very beginning to the very end, changing shape and character. Once maybe just a annoying pain, developing to a paint and then to a whole plain of suffering. Do you suffer? I don't. I honestly do not suffer, even when I do. Even when I do suffer do I stay above that and know that I am not that. Perhaps looking for myself, sometimes reaching out to myself and sometimes sensing my way to myself in the darkness... Perhaps that is my pain. Perhaps my pain is constant. Perhaps...

Do you suffer? I don't. I think. And I think it's a great joy to deal with things that life throws at you. And turning them into a weapon to fight all the dirt in this world? Oh, that is the joy of living.

I am not alone. I have myself. Well, most of the time anyway and the other times? I spent that time looking for myself. Who am I? I am you. I am this. I am that. I am them. I am us. I am it. I am nothing. I am everything. Death is me, so is life.

I feel you near me. Do you smell the oranges? Aren't they wondeful. Always remind me of the new years back home. Also the smell of wood, I like. The smell of bensin. I wouldn't tell you this but only think about it: I had only one friend back home. The most wonderful boy around. Gentle. Quite. Constantly wondering. Smiling. He got killed while driving some guerrillas somewhere. I remember him every day.

I wouldn't tell you any of these, my love. I would quitely put my head on your lap and just breath. Will you love me?

Will you love me if I told you the story about Mîrze Biheme, the Dragon and the King's Daughter? You see, Mr. Guclu is a son of this people, just like me, and he heroicly defended the people and the land. That makes him Mîrze Biheme. But the Dragon is not dead yet.

I would hold you in my palms, lift you up in the sky and blow you away to the stars to collect some dust to put on my skin. I would look at them as memories and introduce you to my only friend. He would love to stay and have a chat with us. We would lit a ciggarette. Oh, wouldn't that be wonderful!

I wouldn't say a word.

...

I will not move to another day but contiune on the page I started even today, 18 November 2005.

People from the past. Man, we are the same person throughout our lives! Or is it me that refuse to let go?

Surviving is allowing the world to set the terms, winning is being yourself regardless.

Plain bread speaking to me

Saying blue bird cannot fly

Thumb hidden nervously away

Blue bird speaks to me

Game location tell babe

Bread sorbet free man

Monday music be flaw

Polman bear can fly

Colour empose change

White run rain away

Hidden nerves speak to me

Little doors can fly

...

Days later, on the 24 december, having chanted away my identity, my provisional self, and now hiding away in silance, I hit the board for words.

The Turks know what they are doing and they are worried that they won't keep upp the appearances, keep repeating the old stories in ever new ways, hoping that somehow life will stop being and time no more pull the rays of the sun onto the space. They, the Turks, the enemies of humanity, the biggest liars of them all, will see the Kurds only to shoot and kill them. Kurds are to go away like a disease. Kurds are the jews of Turkey, Turks are the Nazis of today.

Life won't stop, nor will time stop being on our side. We will win, we will be free!