Merra

This harsh geography (Mesopotamia) could not give birth to us. We may have saved our bodies from the womb, but our souls remained in limbo. We went back and forth to death, both our loves and our freedoms were expensive. We looked for many branches to hold on to, whatever branch we held on to crumbled in our hands. We were the unfortunate landless people of this world. We could not become enemies of anyone, but we could not find friends either. The world is a hell for the sensitive-hearted, said Goethe, we were the sensitive children of this geography.

We attempted big things, like dreaming big dreams. Wherever we dreamed, they grabbed us by the neck. There was an eye on us, always controlling us, intoxicating us and keeping us captive. We could not challenge either the state or our lover. We longed for what we experienced or what we could not experience. Then we thought there must be something, and I embraced poetry, hoping that maybe art would lift our souls. Poetry became MERRA, MERRA became poetry. Some were hanged, some were praised in these poems. Maybe whoever experienced what he deserved in poetry.