Poetry

was born in a land of songs
where even the mountains
sing of sorrow.
My cradle was a tambourine
and my lullaby, a bullet.

Poet: Sherko Bekas (1940–2013)
Kurdish poet

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His words carry the weight of a whole people’s history—so much beauty in the pain. Sherko Bekas had a way of turning suffering into song.

You said it right — he truly was a great man.

I agree with you.He was a remarkable man.