Dêrsim’in Gözyaşları

I have made my journey through life with pains and wounds that are very difficult to bear.

The oppression that started with the Dersim Revolution, the murder of my father, the disappearance of my sister, the pain of Kazım, Aydın, Yılmaz and my nephews Haşim, Özlem and Onur remained in me as wounds that never healed. And a wound that ached and bled every time it was touched.

Losing your loved ones means losing your country. Because your children are also your land, your country.

I am passing this memory on as a legacy to younger mothers.

There are many mothers in different parts of our lands who experience the same pains and drown in the same tears as I do. These pains, longings and hopes that make us who we are bring us together in the same melodies, the same laments and the same Newroz fires. That is why I told all these.

And I say, may the murmurs of our kilams never be silent, may the echoes of our mountains that give us their voice never be silent, and may the lamentations of our rivers never be silent...

Who knows, maybe one day a young mother will lend a voice to my voice and tell our children and grandchildren what comes next.