🏛️🌿 Cousin of Kurdistan 🌿🏛️
From the broken statues of Bactria,
to the wild hills of Kurdistan,
my blood stretches —
a golden thread across time.
I am the cousin of the old kings,
who rode east with the dawn,
whose hands carved marble cities,
whose hearts spoke both Greek and the songs of Iran.
In my soul, the eagle of the steppe flies still,
but my feet are rooted deep
in the soil of the Zagros mountains.
We are cousins, the riders of Bactria and the children of Kurdistan —
both born of the highlands,
both kissed by the breath of ancient suns,
both carrying the fire of old gods and forgotten rivers.
I do not bow to time,
I do not fade into dust.
I am the living memory
of two worlds that were never truly apart.