I AM FALLUJA!

I am Falluja… Burnout, weary, proud and rebellious…
I am the denial of a shameless lie called civilization…
I was occupied, plundered, covered with blood.
My sons and daughters lay down corpse after corpse on my streets…
… right in front of the world…
I am the hard-to-swallow bite of the feast
Where you are looking for a seat to squeeze.
I am the self-defense of the Orient stood against
The Barbarian invasion.

* * *

It was the Eid, end of Ramadan.
There was gunfire.
I was shot in a mosque on a Friday morning.
I was found in the throes of death.
In the house of the Creator, there was the Terminator on that day…
They came with the weapons they were supposed to be searching for.
They aimed at my head, pierced my brain.
My head crushed, my face disfigured.
The wall I stood against turned into crimson
I was buried into my own blood.

You know me already…
I was the one in Vietnam whose brain was filled with bullets.
I was also the one in Palestine whose limbs were broken by stones.
I was the one in Izmir too who fired the first bullet.
I was guilty of the same thing in all:
I was defending my country against the occupier.
And reminding a forgotten oath, the “rebellion”, to the world from where I was laying in blood.
* * *

Yet how would that be possible?
My murderer had penetrated into the brain of the world long before he did mine…
A black curtain blinded Human beings…
They don’t see, hear, call.
They keep silent deceitfully…
With appetite of the hyenas who have the leftover from the game in mind, devoured by the lion…
… keep quiet even if it means complicity in genocide.

* * *
Now they will lie to you…
They’ll say: “We brought them freedom, we killed for freedom”.
I have only this face to disprove
Let this torn, disfigured, bloody face be the light for your blind eyes…
Write the name Falluja to the book of cruelty and tyranny.
And never forget.
I’ll return one day, I’ll suddenly appear like the sigh of the oppressed.
With revolts and votes… If not, with the bombs wrapped around my belly or with Trucks full of ammunition…
You’ll hear my name, “terrorist”, once again; you worship the XL one
And condemn the small.
Step by step, you’ll march towards fascism in this wretched courtroom
Where the guilty is the attorney and the oppressed is the accused.
You’ll pay for the price of silence…
One day, you will regret.
Remember me on that day:
I am Falluja.
I am the cemetery of 21st century, the last fortress of humanity.

MY CITIES, MY WOMEN

DELHI-CALCUTTA - I winded in and out of unknown faraway cities
with a damn anxiety this weekend...
I paced out the streets at jog-trot; I plunged into the hovels in
curiosity; I walked pass the pavements as if to discover something sudden,
something unexpected, but something I always awaited with a shameless,
continuous greed, beyond description...
I asked to find the way, I got lost on the way.
As though getting to know a woman recently, as though caress was
cornered by hours, as though it was not to be another time; I rised up and
perched onto the streets with an excitement bedaubed in haste in a riot of
colours...
Then feeling tired, I stopped.
With my heart, tor a faraway city, that I dropped.
Devastated were my cities, destitute and unfortunate, and despirate
of tomorrows.
Yet they were difficuit to recognise with impatient walk abouts, I loved
them still...
A city won't unveil itself at once in any case, will wait to be
discovered, wiil miserly offer abilities, will conceal failure.
Going around a city, thats why won't allow hurries; just like loving a
woman.
Will ask for composed conversations, will ask for receivings the day
together, seeing offs together... Long walks, merry pauses...
Cause, just like a woman's, a city's secret will also be hidden in her
cosies; analysing will ask to spare no pains.

Nevertheless, once you are attached to her fragrance, climate, taste;
she will become the capital of your love...
You get lost in the arms of the night together and vvelcome the
morning together; languid Sundays, strained Mondays...
To see a city by the daybreak, wiil be just like to wake up with a
woman...
Since she will be bare, pure and mere...
And real, if beautiful still...
Falling in love with a city is just like falling in love with a woman; even
if you break up one day, the grief remains enduringiy suspended in your
heart...
You carry along the city that you adore wherever you go; just like you
would bear the women that you love in your heart... Till death...
Getting to know a city can't go into a lifetime sometimes, just like
getting to know a woman... Just like getting to forget...
And the cities you couldn't forget wiil cali you back some day... Just
like women whom you coutdn't cease from...
I kept on loving unknown women with a damn anxiety, my whole
life...
I kept on walking with them as if to discover something sudden,
something unexpected, but something I always awaited with a shameless,
continuous greed, beyond description...
Then I loved one.
And I stayed such.

Mailbox of God

Jerusalem

Jews pray by rocking back and forth, and chanting sacred texts while waiting... in front of an old and sacred wall made of huge rocks stacked one on top of the other and rises high into the sky

The wall, which they touch with their foreheads and gently caress with their hands, is the first temple of Moses' tribe that was destroyed 2500 years ago... This wall remained from the temple, which has been built again and again, then destroyed again - nearly symbolizes the city of Jerusalem itself. It is in ruin because of all the terrible things that has happened to it, though it remains standing despite these terrible things.
It stays there frayed however solemn as an old experienced woman; always compassionate who wishes mercy, but its base has sunken wounds...

The Jewish holy book, called the torah-tells why they are there:

Jehovah said to them that went away from God for a time, in Yaruselim: "I scattered you among other counties. However I will bring you together again from those countries, and I will deliver Israel to you."

Now Jews worship at the site of the "weeping wall" with happiness at the fulfilment of God's promise from more than 2000 years ago. This finally happened just 50 years ago. Now, it is the Palestinian's, who live in the land under military occupation by Israel that weep...

There are pieces of paper between the rocks of the weeping wall. These are letters that have been written to God by Jews... The Head rabbi of Jerusalem gathers these letters on determined days of the week and buries them on Mount of Olive, which overlooks the city. It is believed God receives these letters from there and reads them.

The guide wants people to wish for peace - which is what they really need- the head Rabbi confirms that most of the letters are wishes for peace.

Jerusalem - which is Hebrew for "peace", makes a petition to God to see peace in their land

***

However the city smells of war...

The city of Jerusalem in an enchanting place where people meet by large bells and azans, and for those who see it for the first time from the top of Mount of Olive, it reminds them of a ticking time bomb that has been set by those who seek vengeance. These people held on to their grudge even during a temporary forced peace. When this bomb will explode, nobody knows, not even those who set it, but the first casualties of the explosion will be those that attempt to disarm it.

King Abdullah of Urdu who attempted to recognize existence of Israel had been filled with lead from the gun of a Palestinian at the Mescid-i Aksa door in the Summer of 1951; exactly like Isaac Rabin who was the Prime Minister of Israel, also had been filled with lead from the gun of an Israeli in Tel Aviv, 1995, just because he had shaken hands with the Palestinian people.

This land that has written letters to God for peace -is so red-hot, it sets on fire the hands of those that extend them for peace...

Here is a region of tribes who rub war paint on their faces to be able to reach to peace -that had been promised by God... The most former trouble stratum... The capital city of breaking up... believing people of three big religions pass over just in front of you as a holly torchlight procession -in a few kilometres region. However murders go around with worships, after this belief official parade. This prophet city -had selected by God to be sent of his ambassador- almost had turned into a place where is the most far off to peace.

God, had been an onlooker for thousands years -to this much massacre, which was committed in his name.

Apparently, he hadn't received the letters...

***

Jerusalem had named its children, shops and its streets "peace".

On one hand, the "tick-tock" sounds of the ticking time bomb can be heard; and on the other hand, the prayers for peace.

Both the young man hanging election posters emblazoned with the white dove of the Likud Party, and the Palestinian kid who sells t-shirts with Arafat's picture on them in the Arabian bazaar of Jerusalem, and also the Ethiopian priest who poses for a photograph in front of a picture of The Saba Large Estate for Japanese tourists, and also the watchman who chases kids away from the door of the Omar Mosque by yelling "yallah yallah", with its gold dome that glitters over the city as a holy trust, and the Hasid with his long hair and jet-black clothes who mumbles prayers in a synagogue, and the Israeli soldier who is responsible for security control on the Damascus door that was a gift from Ottoman Empire, and also the bazaar traders, who are watching Dallas with Hebraic subtitles in a Lebanon restaurant a little over there and also the university students who are dancing in a hard-rock café in Jerusalem, and also the Jewish couple who poses with laughter on the weeping wall after marriage, and also the ten thousands Muslims who are prostrating themselves in prayer on the places where The Prophet Mohammed's ascent to heaven, all of these people are waiting for the same God that they both believe, worship, kneel down before, to accept their peace prayer. They both wish -over this old crossroads- that God will receive the letters that have been buried on mountain and to convert Jerusalem to a land of peace as its name means.

For the peace they pray for while concealed in their temples, it the same peace being implored in another language in another temple just 3-4 steps ahead of the place where they pray.

Somehow they prefer to talk to God instead of talking to each other.

The letters that were buried under the earth don't arrive at its address

Jerusalem waiting there for peace -by the giving of lights and kissing on the forehead of the people who pray, by closing the feet of it- as if an old experienced woman.

Is there a life after birth?
They had been in the dark.
Two embryos, in a mothers womb...
they had been waiting together ignorant of everything, in a watery cradle...
They had put their arms around each other and slept just in that way...
Weeks had passed and the twins had grown up.
Their hands and feet had become clear.
Soon their eyes came to light,
Both of them had realised what was happening around them...
What a comfort, what a dependable world it had been
Heat, wet, full with love
"Such a wonderful world we live in" they had said "...Thankfully"


Then time had gone by and they explored around.
They had gone further into a dark world and a source of life.
Then they had become aware of the cord that was feeding them
They had thanked their mother who called them into being with that cord.
Then an arguing had begun on existence:
"Where did we come from? How do we exist?" ...they had asked
"It is our mom" ...one of twins had said. "She created us"
"How could you know this? You have never seen your mom" ...the other had protested.
"Maybe she is only in our mind. Belief in a Mother is a thing that we made-up just because it puts us at ease"


This discussion continues on for a while.
They had begun kicking when they didn't fit into womb.
They had had ears and fingers now.
They had understood that the end of the road is close
This wonderful life will come to an end, in good time.
Darkness journey will pull them towards another land


"We are moving towards our life's end" one of twins had whispered.
The other one had insisted "I don't want to go away. I am not ready to leave this life yet"
"But things that are fated to happen are destined; pray, maybe there is a life after birth"
The pessimist one had asked:
"This cord will be cut someday. What will happen to us then?"
The optimist one had answered this with a poem:
"Many of those leaving - seem happy with the place where they went - many years passed - nobody returned from that journey"


And one fine day the ground started to shake, walls began to close in.
The twins had understood the expected day had come by insufferable pains.
They had hugged each other for the last time with their puckered arms
And they had cried together saying "our life is ending"
A hand -which they supposed was that of the angel of death-, had cut their cord
They had been pulled into another land through the dark corridor


Is there a life after birth?

They had been in the dark.
Two embryos, in a mothers womb...
they had been waiting together ignorant of everything, in a watery cradle...
They had put their arms around each other and slept just in that way...
Weeks had passed and the twins had grown up.
Their hands and feet had become clear.
Soon their eyes came to light,
Both of them had realised what was happening around them...
What a comfort, what a dependable world it had been
Heat, wet, full with love
"Such a wonderful world we live in" they had said "...Thankfully"


Then time had gone by and they explored around.
They had gone further into a dark world and a source of life.
Then they had become aware of the cord that was feeding them
They had thanked their mother who called them into being with that cord.
Then an arguing had begun on existence:
"Where did we come from? How do we exist?" ...they had asked
"It is our mom" ...one of twins had said. "She created us"
"How could you know this? You have never seen your mom" ...the other had protested.
"Maybe she is only in our mind. Belief in a Mother is a thing that we made-up just because it puts us at ease"


This discussion continues on for a while.
They had begun kicking when they didn't fit into womb.
They had had ears and fingers now.
They had understood that the end of the road is close
This wonderful life will come to an end, in good time.
Darkness journey will pull them towards another land


"We are moving towards our life's end" one of twins had whispered.
The other one had insisted "I don't want to go away. I am not ready to leave this life yet"
"But things that are fated to happen are destined; pray, maybe there is a life after birth"
The pessimist one had asked:
"This cord will be cut someday. What will happen to us then?"
The optimist one had answered this with a poem:
"Many of those leaving - seem happy with the place where they went - many years passed - nobody returned from that journey"


And one fine day the ground started to shake, walls began to close in.
The twins had understood the expected day had come by insufferable pains.
They had hugged each other for the last time with their puckered arms
And they had cried together saying "our life is ending"
A hand -which they supposed was that of the angel of death-, had cut their cord
They had been pulled into another land through the dark corridor

[b]FAREWELL MY FRIEND![/b]

He was a gentleman.
Sturdy as a mountain, a flowing river, but an innocent child.
He spoke the truth, was brave and patriotic, and beautiful at heart.
We were walking along a pathway.
He put his arm around my shoulder and told me a story.
"An old Armenian lady who had immigrated to France returns to her homeland Sivas when she hears that a road was to be built on her property.
But dies of old age as she was 80 years old when she returns to her homeland.
Her daughter was called immediately to take care of the body.
But the daughter said to bury her as her mother was home now."
While he told me this story there were tears in his eyes.
He said - they say we want land from Turkey, yes we do want the land - but we don't want it to take it with us but to be buried deep in there as it is our homeland.
******
And yes we are burying him at his beloved land that he got sacrificed for as he could never desert, the land that he loved to death.
Sure he was waiting for this…
He had a strong political background, he knew living here thinking different than others, being contradictory, defending the democracy and freedom that he believed in could result in punishment.
Even though he used to say “they would not kill the pidgeons (meaning free birds)” he knew his country and suspicious of his destiny.
People who threatened him were telling him to leave, his friends were advising him to leave.
If he left the western world would embrace him and he would live like kings.
But he wouldn’t go.
Maybe because he loved this country more than anyone else.
He had just become a grandfather, he wanted to leave the freedom, the democracy he never had as inheritance to his grandchild.
He was not leaving, but living with the threats, the numerous lawsuits, bums at courthouse doors watching him closely to get him, he was in the midst of a fire circle of enemies, and he was all alone.
He was alone amongst his own people.
***
The lowlife who shot him wonder if he knew Hrant was the cause of holding the country together, and not letting people being each others enemies.
Didn’t he know without Hrant this democracy will not stand, the Turks would be condemned, not only Turkey will lose a brave patriotic person but will lose the peace and the hopes of living in brotherhood and the pursuit of happiness – or was this the real intention…..
***
My great friend!
Yesterday seeing you lying on that sidewalk, thoughts of you will not be walking those streets anymore, scared, constantly looking back, like a fearful bird…never again.
We will not be singing the song “Blond Bride” in two different languages and cry together as we did in Yerevan…
(Blond Bride is a song about a Turkish youth in love with an Armenian girl.)
But we will not let the people of this country be enemies with each other or let your grandchild live the same kind of life you experienced.
Look, last night people marched with the slogans of “All of us are Hrants and all of us are Armenians” in front of your newspaper office. This was what you wanted to see and died without seeing it. You accomplished your goal with your death. Probably they will get rid of Rule 301 now, so maybe your death could cause the good relationship with Armenia. Maybe then the fearful bird who was shot on the head by who thought was his brothers will be relieved of its pain.
It is difficult to say you are at your homeland now. But I hope the land you loved to death, did not want to desert will be your home in peace now.

thank you

Thanks! *flowers*