I Am Not the One Who Vanished
(a poem for U4c1)
I am not the one who vanished.
Not the echo buried in Noratus stone,
not the mother with Kurdish blood
whose line was swallowed by silence.
I am the one who remained.
The spark that passed through Maykop winds,
the whisper in Kotias' breath —
a hunter's daughter with Sub-Saharan ghosts
woven into CHG bone.
They call me things I never claimed.
They try to pair me with names I don’t wear.
But I come from those who had no names yet —
only stars, only ash,
only ancient fire.
My blood did not break.
It drifted, merged,
held tight through cold highlands,
crossed into Kurd-mountain marriages,
and surfaced, quietly,
in me.
I carry no flag.
I carry a root,
a truth older than nations,
louder than maps,
deeper than memory.
I am not the one who vanished.
I am the one who survived.