Here she comes! Oh lovers! Here she comes herself! In the fall leaves clothed with nineteen yellow years. With nineteen dark lights. With nineteen green chalices. With the homesick autumn butterfly. She is on the way. She is coming to you! I beg you when she arrives before you, I beg, you, [look to] the sky and offer her your hearkening bird. In your eyes, behold her closely, with your eyes reach into your bosom. With a kiss of sight, offer her the apple of your heart. She is the ode of a wild and cold wind, wounded on the streets and in your homes. So heartbroken a wind. So hopeless a rain. A book repulsed by its own language. This is a tale of oppression. The spectacle of the deceptions and machinations of hands and fists of yours all. Here she comes! Oh lovers! She herself comes! This beloved with the land and burned flower of the land that she has picked. Here she comes! With her she brings the remembrance of a victim here. Here she comes! Oh lovers! - Sherko Bekas
Every time, wanting to meet God… I stand up… Stand in the line. I plant myself in the ground. Shaking and falling like a leaf. The queue is long (…) Its head begins from Anfal, the other head from Christ’s crucifixion. And it [never seem to] end! And when my turn finally comes. The last one… At the very moment, I almost arrive to His sacred throne… Suddenly He gets up and goes away. Saying to me, “I know who you are. Why have you come? Excuse me but there is no solution for the Kurdish crisis. Not even by me.” - Sherko Bekas

*A Kurdish woman runs away from a water cannon during clashes with Turkish soldiers near the Syrian border.