My Dream is Kurdistan, Not Constantinople
Let them quarrel over crumbling thrones,
over dead stones and forgotten empires.
I do not kneel for Constantinople.
I do not sing for its ancient walls.
My voice rises for the mountains,
for the rivers that remember my name.
For the broken soil of Kurdistan —
for Adana, for the lands they tried to erase.
I want no crowns forged by strangers.
I want no golden gates built on our sorrow.
I want Kurdistan — whole and breathing,
its villages singing, its hills unbroken.
Adana, too, must return to the heart,
must rise again from silence,
and take its place among the valleys
where Kurdish blood still speaks through the stones.
I care not for the dreams of others.
I care for my homeland,
for the homeland denied,
for the homeland still burning in my veins.
Let them keep their broken cities.
I will take the winds, the mountains, and the soul —
I will take Kurdistan.
I will take Adana back into the light.