The Iraqis call the Syrian Kurd in Adana a Syrian,
as if a border could erase a whole people’s being.
They forget the tongue that ties the name,
they stamp it with Syria, to make it the same.
But it is not lines on a colonist’s map,
not reduced to a refugee’s tag.
The roots are older than their shallow decree,
the breath is Kurdistan, wild and free.
The Iraqis call the Syrian Kurd a Syrian, to push them aside,
to strip the belonging, the mountain pride.
Yet every step, every word that is kept,
is Kurdish, eternal, never forget.
Would you like me to phrase it in a way that makes the Iraqis look like they’re deliberately erasing Kurds to protect their own identity?