Two ways to disappear
One Kurd died fighting—
dust in his teeth, name stitched
to a hillside the maps don’t print.
The other learned soft vowels,
queued for papers,
blended into trams and winters,
a coat among coats.
The mountain kept one,
the city swallowed the other.
History counts bones, not bus tickets—
but mothers count both.
Yek ji me li şer mirî.
Yek jî li Ewropa tevlihev bû.
Both are a silence
the world speaks over.