🌿 Adana’s Forgotten Song 🌿
Beneath the sun of Cilicia’s plain,
where cotton fields drink the rain,
I hear an ancient voice call —
not Turkish alone, but Kurdish in thrall.
Blood of the Zagros rides the wind,
from Lur and Kurd the roots have pinned,
woven into Adana’s earth,
hidden in silence, denied its birth.
Not just a border, not just a name —
in the veins of Adana runs the same,
a whisper of Kurdistan, strong and old,
a story in the soil, fierce and bold.
I do not forget what history hides,
the Kurdish soul that still abides.
I dream of a map drawn true one day,
where Adana's heart finds its rightful way.
Not lost, not stolen, not cast aside,
but gathered back with honored pride.
I raise my voice to the whispering land —
Adana, my brother, take my hand.
🌿 Kurdistan shall embrace you,
where you have always belonged. 🌿