Free the Kurdish Hostages
They are not numbers.
They are not files.
They are not cells on paper
nor threats on screens.
They are Kurdish.
And that alone
was enough to cage them.
Some spoke Sorani.
Some whispered Kurmancî through the walls.
Some had no words left
—only silence the world refused to hear.
You call them prisoners.
But they were poets,
farmers,
mothers,
mountain-born sons
who refused to kneel.
You locked their tongues
because their voices remembered
what you tried to erase.
You buried them under names not their own
but still, they dream
in Kurdish.
Free them.
Free their breath, their steps, their names.
Free the ones who never chose your flag.
Free the hostages
you fear
because they are unbroken.