ASK YELLOW FLOWERS

We were sitting in the living room watching TV news. They were giving the news with same images.

İ turned me with questioning eyes; “This means the caves collapsed on them by bombs?”

I looked a few seconds in silence before answering him; “Sure, they send the bombs, caves collapse, they die.”

That stealthy burning begin to invade me as usual. I was not able to hear or sea the TV in front of me. I was not in the warmth of the living room anymore but shivering with cold.

“Do you know what, that is why they can’t give body count. They are bombing the unreachable points. Even PKK may not reach different bombed points at this winter time and know about the number of their lost. I mean, if no one left alive to inform with radio.”

All I can think of was the wall like mountain slopes, full of thousands of caves at our both sides which enchanted me during my last visit to border area. The images on TV were wilder, same caves bursting were on abysses, hard to imagine they can be reached on foot.

“Their bodies will freeze till the spring if they will not be eaten by wild animals by than. They can be reached may be only after spring” was my voice so chilling or could he get my meaning immediately, I am not so sure.

“Okey, okey don’t begin. I don’t want to hear your usual remarks!”

“Why don’t you ever like to hear realities? It must be what is happening. Bombs are raining on them. They get trapped dead or wounded. If anyone survive they may communicate by other groups, if not nobody can hear from them any more.”

“It is horrible.”

“What were you thinking it will be? They will land the areas, take the bodies, give them to their parents or take photos, show the world?”

“No, but…”

“Are there any photos of dead soldiers at the place of the events? It is a psychological part of this, not to give any photos of death. But this is another matter of fact, though they gave the photos of some bodies of PKK members lined side by side in the past, these must be really unreachable, at least for now.”

“But it is very… I mean… I don’t want to… this is horrible…”

“Yea, it is horrible. It is inhuman, is there any thing human in any kind of war?”

“But the people were fed up, they killed so many in years, they created so many pains…”

“Whatever, murder is a great crime but we don’t approve death penalty. “

“This is more than death.”

“Every death is unique. Nothing can justify death. We, unfortunately not everybody but, at least some of us can make empathy because they are our people, could we make this much for Iraq, Afghanistan for example…”

We sit silent until others come. Images fallowed one another in my mind. God, it is not always good to have an active imaginary…

I wrote dozens of scenarios in my mind as if I am still young and one of them. I wrote other dozens as if I am the mother of one of them. I could’t write even one as if I am one of their leaders deciding on their fate or sending bombs for their death. Even putting my self in the shoes of one of their mothers was easier because there was only unbearable pain to face, but no responsibility of murder.

Dreams woke me up several times until morning. I was at several places in wild nature. We were in preparation to spend winter in caves. I was not able to detach any feelings but longing. Bombs were beginning to rain on us. So much voice, so many explosions… Then silence and darkness…

I died so many times in my dreams before but last night it was not possible to differ if I was dead, wounded or one of few survived. It was such darkness and silence that even the living was dead and dead was alive. They were not nightmares, it was not my imagination.

All were more like a sacred ritual. Every dream ended with silence becoming alive, darkness turning to uncountable colors. I was bodiless whirling united with colors, as dervishes made of particles. Embraced with psalms, in every dream beginning with “Sordum sarı çiçeğe, sizde ölüm var mıdır? Çiçek eydür derviş baba, ölümsüz yer var mıdır?” (I asked the yellow flower, do you have death? Flower is fine dervish father, is there any land without death?)

Last time when such dreams invaded me I was in Diyarbakir, after witnessing the evacuation of dead and wounded soldiers from helicopters, in blood, over their friends’ shoulders from my hotel room.

There is a rebellion rising in me I am not able to control against death, death culture. I can’t understand how come death can be tried to be justified in any way. There is a point where no point of views, no beliefs, no ideologies, no politics works. I don’t know why can’t we see that, why can’t we resist the brainwashing politics of any kind.

When will the children of this country dance, whirl with all colors, with all folk songs, in all languages, all together? We can experience it only in our dreams after witnessing so much pain, but our children, grand children deserve to live it out of dreams.

Yellow flowers in our mountains, valleys are dying, wish earth will save their seeds. Some are terrorists , some civilians, some are soldiers. Forget the names, we have uncountable colors of flowers. Purples, voilets can also make you dazzle...

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Benzin neden sarıdır?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Ahım dağlar eritir

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Sizde ölüm varmıdır?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Ölümsüz yer varmıdır

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Kışın nerde olursun?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba::
Kışın türab oluruz

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Tamuya girer misiz?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Ol münkirler yeridir.


Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Uçmağa girer misiz?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Uçmak adem şehridir

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Gül sizin neniz olur?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Gül Muhammed teridir

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Ademi bilir misiz?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Adem binde birdir

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Kırkları bilir misiz?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Kırklar Allah yâridir

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Rengin kandan alırsız?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Ay ile gün nurudur

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Boynun neden eğridir?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Kalbim Hakka doğrudur.

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Annen baban varmıdır?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Annem babam topraktır

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Sen Kâ'be'yi gördün mü?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Kâ'be Allah evidir

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Bahçene girsem nola?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Kokla beni geri dur

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Sen sırat'ı gördün mü?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Cümlenin ol yoludur

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Gözün niçin yaşlıdır?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Bağrıcağım başlıdır

Sordum sarı çiçeğe:
Sen beni bilir misin?
Çiçek eydür derviş baba:
Sen Yunus değilmisin