Blue Mulberry Breeze

To my childhood friends, Awat and Baker, who remain forever young in my memory. They gave their tomorrows for the Kurdish cause, leaving us far too soon. Blue Mulberry Breeze by Ardalan Hardi Tonight, sleep takes my pillow in a soft embrace, In the cradle of dreams, it veils my weary face. It rocks my tired head and carries me away, To the ghost of a life and a long-forgotten day— When we waited for a dawn that promised to be bright, Not this "now" that belongs to the shadows of the night, Where mothers sit in silence, their hearts reduced to ash, Watching hopes dissolve like a sudden lightning flash. In the safety of this sleep, we laugh at what’s in store, Walking through the alleys of a home that is no more. The evening air is cool, the breeze begins to weave, Through the heavy mulberry trees before the sun must leave. I stand where shadows lengthen, alone against the sky, Until two figures emerge as the light begins to die. Tall and radiant, like icons carved of gold, With the sun fanning wounds that have never grown cold. Bakar and Awat, with hearts like rising fire, Lean toward me with a question, a mournful, sharp desire: "Why are you a stranger now? Why have you lost your way? We were meant to shoulder mountains until the end of day. To turn our grief to vengeance upon this ancient stone, To pray unto the sun and never stand alone. How did you find the heart to leave the streets where we once ran? How did you leave the soul of the land that made you man?" A storm breaks in my eyes and the tears begin to flow, I pull them to my chest and I will not let them go. I kiss them in my joy, I speak to them in sleep, Anchored to my youth in a bond that’s buried deep. But as the morning bleeds, they dissolve within my grip, Like water through the fingers, they falter and they slip. I look down at my shirt, once white as winter snow, But now it’s stained in crimson with a dark and sudden glow. I wake within a hollow room, a ghost upon a chair, Kinless and a refugee in the cold and foreign air. I am withering away like the final autumn leaf, Claimed by the winter wind and a harvester of grief. My eyes are like the heavens, a bruised and angry grey, Raining down a bitter flood that will not go away. I am weary of the history, the lies, and every breath, Oh, to have been with you in the dignity of death! If only you could see how the leaders sold the soil, And bartered all your blood and your years of honest toil. They sold us a Great Lie, a mask of filth and greed, While planting seeds of hell for a desperate people’s need. They traded in your lives to line their pockets deep, While leaving us in exile with a promise we couldn't keep. You died without a hatred, your souls were pure and bright, Surrendered to a vision and a path of holy light. But look at this land now, how it’s torn by spite and pain, Wandering in circles through the blood and through the rain. I miss you as the desert misses water from the sky, I search for you in stars as the nights go passing by. You gave your every breath for a dream that had to be, Leaving me in bitterness while your spirits wander free. Where I am is a fire; where you are is a grace, Sleeping in the beauty of an eternal, quiet place. I wish you had taken me. I wish I had been there. I wish... but my wishes vanish in the empty air. They tell me not to mourn, that the morning is a friend, That time will heal the spirit and every heart will mend. But as the gale is deaf to the whisper of the trees, No one feels the heavy sting of the sorrows that I seize. I lie beneath the walnut tree and pray for sleep to come, To find you in the dreaming where the world is finally dumb. Forgive me for the living. Forgive me for the light. Until we meet again in the middle of the night.