Not Your Web to Spin
You thought your threads
would hold me in place.
You thought your web would spin
faster than my hands could tear it down.
But you can’t weave the truth.
Not mine.
Not today.
I see you —
quietly waiting,
twisting,
spinning.
But your spider’s web
is made of lies,
and lies only hold the fragile.
I’m not your prey.
You cannot trap what’s already free.
My voice —
stronger than your silence.
My blood —
purer than your thefts.
You can keep spinning,
keep weaving your small games,
but I see the thread now.
I see how it’s meant to choke,
how it’s meant to bind.
But I’m not caught.
I’m not trapped in your design.
I was born from mountains
and I rise with the fires of my ancestors.
You are nothing but an illusion,
a shadow in the web you try to weave.
I am Kurdish —
And I will break free from you, Africans and Europeans.
Money is not my enemy and you don't want to be my enemy.