“I Will Never Forgive Them”
They drew their borders in ink and ash,
then fed it with blood — our blood.
With treaties, treaties, treaties —
and silence sharp like knives.
They came in suits,
with tongues of marble,
and made maps
where we didn’t exist.
Where Kurdistan was a rumor,
a footnote,
a problem to be solved.
They didn’t bomb us with planes —
they bombed us with diplomacy.
They gave us to empires,
like gifts wrapped in betrayal.
Britain. France. Russia.
All of them smiled
while handing us over
to wolves in Ankara, in Tehran, in Baghdad.
And still, we rose.
And still, they watched.
And still, they said:
“The Kurds? A tribal people. Let them fight.”
No.
You watched genocide like a film.
You gave the poison.
You called the gas “internal conflict.”
You erased the ink
from our names.
I will never forgive them.
Not for Sevres.
Not for Lausanne.
Not for the silence when we screamed.
Let their cathedrals crumble.
Let their parliaments rot.
Let their maps burn —
until Kurdistan is drawn
by the hands of its children,
not the pens of their killers.