Awene The most admired Independent Kurdish Newspaper from the heart of Kurdistan.

Khatuzeen Center For Kurdish Women’s Issues

Latif Halmat  was born 1947 in Kifri in Southern Kurdistan. Latif is working as a journalist and a writer. He has published several collections of poetry. Some of the collections are: God and our little city (1970), Facing a rebirth (1973), The girl's hair is my tent in summer and winter (1977), The white storm (1978), The letters that my mother does not read (1979), and Finished and unfinished poems (1979). Latif Halmat has also written drama. He belongs to the younger generation of Kurdish poets who made their debut during the 1970s. 

Grave And Gun

Suddenly electricity was restored

The film resumed  Men were making guns  Women were shedding tears

Then the lights went off again

Perhaps the men are digging graves now The women are wearing black.

Sulaymani 2/9/98

The Poem Which Ends, Ends Not

Stones feel neither happiness nor sadness they do not hate nor love any one stones do not have hearts to fall in love neither do they have hands to write letters and poems to their lovers neither do they fantasise about pursuing them from street to street stones do not have feet to run away when the guards go to arrest them. they do not have mothers to weep for them when they die they do not have fathers to discipline them when they mibehave they do not have a specific country to sacrifice themselves for; wherever they happen to be they find a place to rest and stick to it firmly

stones never remember their past nor feel nostalgic about it for otherwise stones would once have written a poem or a letter

In spite of all that our forefathers said "Stones are weighty in their own places" So are human beings.

This age is the age of empty and decorated words it is the age of fake and begging poets it is the age of the commercialisation of thought, faith, mind and heart it is the age of free death, individually and collectively at the turnabout of every street death is waiting wherever you least expect death is your guard and in your service

This age is the age of confusion and complication every word is curtailed by hundreds of automatic and electronic tricks to serve the interests of the bourgeoisie

let us learn to discriminate between the good and the bad let us love Truth more than ice-cream, hair-claps, necklaces and kisses. 

Nazim Hikmet Talks With Humanity

When I was born, sorrows were as normal as the wind; death as normal as stones and shadows hapinnes, just like the cigarettes and matches at petrol stations, was forbidden.

Silence was a favourite medal on the breast of any coward poet. words were knives seeking the throat of their utterers. Then came I and set fire to the roots of fear and sowed the clouds of love on the winds of the seasons.

In the country of hunger and drought I made my poetry the river of perfumes and cursed a century in which poets are caught, from fear, in the traps of gold and money. and birds are caught, from hunger, in various traps and snares.

On the mountains, in the plains and valleys I cried: O my hungry homeland I love you and I love you here I am ploughing this land with my eyelashes turning it into farms and orchards which grow red flowers and beautiful poems for the children of the coming world a world of freedom, love and peace.  

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