Give me your heart, the truth says „let us be free in the cool, deep and blue waters of the Lake Van“.
When I want to take the road, can you give me a long way to end my longing? Would you extend me your hands?
I dive into the illuminated nights of Mardin and draw the hearts of the children of Amed who are attracted and yearn for their occupied land.
To take away their rights of life, did not just meaning, to wear a white shroud for them. The childhood of each child was forbidden.
For the sake, which child had melted his body with fire, for their own land, except, the children of Kurdistan, because of oppression, who were rebellious and thirsty for freedom except Evrim, Mazlum and Mustafa for the goods?
In a country, where childhood is forbidden to live freely, wich called growth?
Some did not know how alienated they were to the essence of growth and greatness. In fact, each day, the growth of what they call growth. Its geography is a scene of murder, with unfamiliar pains and a geography that conceives new deaths every day.
The soils, that found in the blood of the children who owns the land, if they did not accept the betrayal.
„That is why their parents, calling
Biji (long live) lived in reality, Apo was the source of life for the living of that beautiful life, even in the hearts of children, because he promoted their life and existence to the world. And the Hearts grow rapidly in shoots.
and their hearts would challenge the world. There were new awakening, newborns, the inhabitants of those lives were the hearts that would be eternal.
the comrades I’ve met, each of them like the universe, impassioned by the floods of enthusiasm, such as the Tigris and Euphrates, the great comrades of hope and struggle.
They were all children of the same Homeland with the same dreams and want to be taken the occupation of their homeland by enemy.
But their belief in freedom did never deviate on their faces, by hitting the enemy on the ground.
Their gaze, were full of anger against hate, for them who been forced to seen tens thousands of bodies slaughtered in front of his face, with hundreds of handcuffed hands, count only those, seen with own eyes.
On the other hand, there was hope, in those eyes, that hope was the hope of reaching freedom.
This hope grew day by day and grew to promise a new life to these land, which became pregnant each day. He grew up in the driest place with the hearts of each of them to sprouted.
Those lives were eternal lives, and they were a heart that even, the angel of death did not dare to take.
They grew up in a nightmare to the night of the executioners. Some of the Newroz fever, illuminated by the darkness, some of which are the essence of a mosaic of the gardens of love , let grown and grown.
Their dream is not even in the winters, but in their anger they are surrounded by climates and they are lurking at the borderline.
Heyyy death, come from wherever you come from, the screams, composed in the dreams, hearts and in their songs.