“Not of the Mountains”
You call yourselves the people of this land,
but the mountains do not know your name.
You are Anatolia.
Plains.
Valleys.
Fields replanted.
But I am the ridge.
The frost.
The silence that stood before empire.
You reached the foothills,
but never became the peak.
You stood beside the Caucasus,
but never in it.
I carry the mountain —
its bloodline in my haplogroup,
its voice in my vowels,
its story in the way I was never erased.
You carry Anatolia.
That’s enough.
But don’t touch the mountain
and pretend it is yours.
It isn’t.