In this damned country, what haven’t you apportioned like your own farms?
What used to make us proud was the memory of our martyrs you
have turned into bridges for yourselves.
I dare not carry a pen, I dare not wear a shirt
as you have apportioned even the colours, damn you!*
Is it student or pupil? Is it woman or lady?**
You have divided even the words in the dictionary, damn you!

You divided even the twin shores of the greats Khani and Haji Qadir.***
You divided even the natural elements of earth, water and fire.
What have you done? Whom have you spared?
You have apportioned even prostitutes, thieves and robbers.

You have divided one homeland into two.
Roaming town by town, village by village,
You have divided the hearth of each home into two.

Other people have one common history, we have two.
Other people are lumbered with one leadership, we are lumbered with two.

Is there anybody who has not heard of Ba’th?
Is there anybody who does not know Ba’th?
Until recently, he was a ruthless thug, a bloodthirsty murderer.
Now, thanks to you, he is back with a vengeance,
Incognito like a secret agent, invisible like death.
He has turned into TNT explosive.
He is disguised among the wads of our Dinar notes.
He has infiltrated our dining table,
Clinging to us by the feet, he follows us everywhere.

In the headlines of your newspapers, I see Ba’th.
In the cabinet posts of your leaders, I see Ba’th.
In the 50/50 power sharing, I see Ba’th.
In the killing of prisoners and extractions of confessions, I see Ba’th.
In the ringing of the bell and the knock on the door at midnight, I see Ba’th.

Thanks to you, one of my eyes is dancing with joy
because the other eye is unsightly.
Thanks to you, one of my arteries is hysterical with laughter
at the severance of its fraternal artery.

In my occupied hometown, I see the turban on the head of the partisans
which for years looked like a crown.
Now, thanks to you, it almost resembles the helmet of a soldier.

Two dead bodies lie there, brothers they were.
They shared the same dream, but they differed in colour.
The distance between them is bridged by
the burning sighs of a mother and father.
As for their leaders, they are enjoying themselves
in merriment and mirth.
The gap between them is bridged by
the enemy’s dining tables with glasses of wine.

Abdula Peshew is a contemporary of the first generation of the followers of the modernist Kurdish poet, Goran.

Notes
* Yellow and green are the colour codes of the KDP and PUK, respectively.
** Both KDP and PUK have their own student and women’s organisations with differing titles.
*** Ahmedi Khani (1651-1706) and Haji Qadiri Koyi (1817-1897) – poets and early apostles of Kurdish nationalism, in the northern Kurmanji and southern Kurmanji (Sorani) dialects, respectively.