As we further moved forward to the real Kurdistan; Kurdistan of mountains, Kurdistan of endless grasslands, the land of melancholy trees, the ground of solitary birds on the stiff rocks, my truthful Kurdistan, a silent Kurdistan full of breath of a tremendous soul, a place which has a soul different from the solitary spirit of any man, a supreme soul, something which includes a kind of secret integrity, the proud of nature to its limitlessness, the honored of area to its special and infinite language, the proud of high elevation and tops to their endless silence…. My Kurdistan, I am sure my inner angel like me surprisingly looks at you now.
A Kurdistan which doesn't smell of any us, it doesn’t scent of me, it doesn't smell of Livitant and Haval Sher khani, a Kurdistan which doesn't smell of gun, it doesn't scent of army, but it does smell of eternity. The smell of something which is much more immortal, longer and more boundless than us…
My Kurdistan, which was something out of history and slept in the endless womb of nature, an infinitude land which doesn't tarnish, it's ageless and quiet… but it endlessly and sadly looks at us, it looks at us and looks at us without saying anything. My infinitude Kurdistan, it is a land that it doesn't belong to anything else except eternity. When my feelings touch that deep distant unattainable Kurdistan. The Kurdistan that I knew none of us can reach it, I realized that how it is impossible even to measure the distance between us by our little sensation, because of this a melancholic thought overwhelmed me…
Jubilation and enjoyment further fell apart of my heart. All of a sudden Kurdistan for me was turning to that profound secret exquisiteness, to that top-secret silence, to that distant uncontrolled area that not merely by the enemy but even the most powerful potency on earth could not conquer it.
Translated by Sarwer Ahmad
