Five poems by Dr Fereydun Rafiq Hilmi:
Lord of the insane
Descended in the dead of night.
A dozen men with stripes of white
They broke the fragile (Derga) down.
They saw the screams but heard them not!
Their heads were full of murderous plot.
A woman clutching babes in arms.
A granddad bewildered and alarmed.
Bellowed one soldier:
“Show your man!!”
“Quick be you wench,
Do you understand?!”
Blast after blast he shot the kids,
And bits of wall came crashing down.
“Be grateful bitch, you’re still alive.
I’ll count, to let you live, till five.
Your husband dies so you’ll survive.”
“I don’t know, begged she, where he is.
A wife I’m no longer, even, his.
Perhaps he’s now an Arab (Jash),
Or May be Persian Mulla’s (Diz).
I swear I’m just a Mountain Turk.
I’ll never from my servitude shirk.
You’ve killed my kids and dad in vain.
And mixed their virgin blood with rain.
Allow me, mighty Turkish Knight.
To make you feel at home tonight
The Mongol Warrior laughed aloud,
And spread his legs as he then crouched.
“Come wench, you’re mine and always will,
Deserve to serve my Race and Will”.
The mother went to make them tea.
She crossed the dead who seemed asleep.
And as she laced their tea with Gift,
She thought she saw her youngest shift.
No sooner did he move a slug,
Was let off to pin him to the rug.
Another warrior slit his throat,
And pulled his head off like a goat.
The mother served the poisoned drink,
And when they drank they all felt sick.
But when the last man spent his life,
She picked the largest kitchen knife,
And pierced her belly till she felt,
The tip of steel invade her spine.
Her eyes were filled with tears divine.
“I’m yours she screamed with mighty pain.
God Damn you Lord of the insane”.
October 1991
Jash=Collaborator, Diz=Thief,
Gift=German for poison
The road to oblivion
The years go by.
The decades roll.
As Cowards die,
And Heroes Fall.
A thousand years and we still weep.
Our plight gets worse,
Our wounds more deep.
Long have we lost the will to live,
To take what’s ours, learn to give.
A thousand more we shall remain,
Others’ belongings and domain.
But, ever more we will demand,
to be protectors of the land.
For him and her, for all of them.
We love to be the masters’ scum.
October 1991
The Mustard-Gas-Lullaby; The 13th; Death-day
Sleep, peaceful baby, don’t wake up
It’s no use crying. Save your lungs
The fight is over. They have won,
Oil will always flow, my son
Sleep little child, don’t resist
Our fate is sealed.
Alas We’ve got no allies
The cultured races rule the skies
They hear all so please desist
Tomorrow we’ll all forget
A prophet, once more,
God will send
Another nation will proclaim
That God did choose them to sustain:
his word, his rules, his holy land
And once again we’ll swallow sand
Sleep child you are all alone
Our death no one will ever mourn
So close your eyes and pray be dead
Please do not breath, or raise your head
However, do remember this:
Dozens of thousands met their ends
For God’s sake, they became Anfal,
For greed, the ultimate abyss
Sleep, do not cry O’little one
The world has ended, no more fun
Die, for tomorrow will begin
A new world order full of sin.
The vultures waiting for the feast
The Wise men come from the east
The new Messiah will control,
Everyone’s mind, action and soul
Please die my child don’t protest!
A quiet journey is the best.
The Global village is too small:
We can’t reside in it at all
They’re waiting, don’t keep them without.
Our homeland must be repossessed.
Halabja’s dead because Saddam,
Was sure that no one would protest.
But father why should I pretend?
I’ll live defiant till the end.
No one will tell me what to do
I’m a survivor. But are you?
Pray father fight on, don’t give in!
Only the brave will ever win.
For our country people will rise
Reversing failure and demise
Halabja Lives on, let them see.
The future will belong to me,
The Kurdish child will survive
And laugh and play and stay alive
A red-faced day we will declare
For all the ones who did not dare
To speak the nasty, naked truth
And left the nation in despair
The world belongs to him, who dares
The coward runs the brave deters
Unless the people want to live
No one will it, its freedom, give
Come, father, let’s together shout
We are free; we are free, to all about
Our lives and livelihood we’ll give,
Halabja will forever live!
11/03/2001
A fist full of dinars
Give up your greed.
Support your breed
Do not react.
Command and Act
Without Conceit.
Divided we can not succeed
Demand your rights.
Attain the heights
And raise your sights.
Do not regret.
Unite, Ignite the flame of freedom
Demand your state.
Do read and write to expedite,
And Stand before invasion.
And spread the word
To every man.
We are an ancient nation
To fail you’ll see,
Your life is grim,
Your future dim,
Your struggle lost before its start.
The seeds of woe with foreign aid,
Is made to grow to serve your foe.
Give up your greed.
Support your breed,
Command and lead.
Divided we can not succeed
Your fellow Kurds across the hills,
Beyond the lines await your deed
Your help, they need.
However soon,
However late you will achieve your freedom,
Remember always come the tide.
Your real friends are by your side.
The mountain tops are true to you.
The trees, the hills, protecting you
The Heavens watching over you.
But, as I dream and visualise of times afar,
Beside a stream, I realise..
Alas, today, just as before
Just as before
Lies and deceit and Self-Defeat,
Command the Kurdish nation, for ever more
For ever more.
For some reward, Autonomy, rottenomy,
A fistful of Dinars
A post or two, Oh, Foolish you, for Self Determination?
Your Kurdish Front.
Your leaders, who,
For promised wealth are selling you
Telling the world “The Kurds deny”.
A Kurdish State? Who wants to die?
They lie. They lie! What Kurdistan?
What Nation States?
We want to help our Arab mates.
To whom who butchered half out folk
We rushed and kissed and long embraced.
We were mistaken clearly
We’ve always loved him dearly.
The struggle was, but, a sick joke
Seven decades, the people fought.
They died, they sighed: Our Leaders lied.
And as they sleep in their hives.
They live while thousands lost their lives
A tribal chief an Uncle Tom,
A bunch of half-witted scum.
Decided that the Kurds are dumb.
Began to use them for their ends,
And serving their new Turkish “friends”
I wonder what the Kurds have done
deserving such a heap of dung
October 1991
A Homeland for Sale
The house is wrecked, the kids are dead
My wife was murdered – neighbours said
I stand alone, without a hope
Without a home, without a friend
The rest have gone, the fighters fled
The fields are empty, but for Lead
A poison cloud of mustard gas
An orange film of powdered death
Aromas void of nature’s best
An outrage wells up in my chest
I cry, I grieve, I wish to die I plead,
I pray – it’s all a lie
Perhaps a dream, it’s not my house
The number proves it is, alas
I close my eyes and shut my mind
Imagine that I have gone blind
I see not more, only the past
The blissful moment does not last
The whining noise of death on wings
A giant explosion rings
The bastards returned to ensure
No one survives their murderous tour
My Lovely Homeland is For Sale
Its mortgage paid with blood and shale
The gardens extends across frontiers
Our “Neighbours” peed in them for years
Today they brought us more bad news-
We are to suffer like the Jews* more abuse.
Two Thousand years and may be more
A nation, no one will adore
Our Homeland has never been ours
As tenants we have no powers
The Law was made by foreign
Tsars Arabs, Britons, and even Tartars
Our Leaders tell us ask no more
Your rights are dreams and we should know
The Yanks have always told us so
We know exactly what to do
Our Independence is taboo
For Sale it is, then, Kurdistan!
I hope our children understand
We have to move to somewhere else
And exorcise this dreadful Curse
While all the nations of the world
Achieve their freedom
We are told: “You don’t possess the right to be”
“An Independent Entity” But, worst of all
For this we fall and stuff the minds of our folk
With words our enemies spoke.
And anyone who should persist
Is placed on their blackest list.
A danger he becomes at once
Against their personal advance.
“For Sale” for a Nominal sum
We’ll even take an empty slum.
In any corner of your earth
We plead with those who stole our wealth
In any portion of your globe.
We will reside and do our job
Beneath a tent or plastic sheet.
We’ll huddle and curl up our feet
If only we are to survive,
The holocaust and stay alive
We’ll follow orders just like sheep,
A Promise we shall always keep
“For Sale”, a sign for all to see.
By reason of economy
The bankrupt tenants have to leave.
A quick sale they have to achieve
The world believes we don’t exist.
A problem that seems to persist
They have convinced us that we should.
Forget the future if we could
We must accept the status-quo.
There is no hope and we should know
The Kurds are Arabs with no brain.
Or, Mountain Turks fighting in vain
Proclaiming that they are apart.
But know they are not deep in their heart
A type of Persian, if you please.
Inferior and so ill at ease.
The slightest problem and they crack.
They even blamed it on Zohak
Some Kurds Belong to S. Hussein.
Although reputedly insane
They must remain in his domain,
And pledge allegiance to his reign
Our leaders think we are to blame.
We should repent, adopt his aim
He IS the Leader of Iraq,
And is immuned from all attack
We won’t repeat the episode.
We will approve of this “accord”
Democracy is all we seek.
“FREE KURDISTAN?”
What Bloody Cheek?!
In Shame and guilt we all submit
The Fault is ours we admit.
An aberration which will pass
We do apologise en masse!!
* changed in protest against behaviour of the Jewish state!
October 1991
Such a strong reflection.
Such a touching brief on a near history.
Such a naive poetry.
I admire and unlike the heavy drama words suggest, I’m filled with hope.
If people are able to survive under such constraint, this gives them more chance to stay alive than the countries made on artifical cultures easily diminishing in history.
These poems are a reply to Mr. Robert Fisk’s ideas about Kurdish issue. He was so Larry King like while he was blaming Kurds to be a victim of a “Kurds versus Kurds” destiny. Strangers so easily argue on the matters they don’t feel in their heart.
Please continue on this.
Congragulations.