Tag Archives: Behrouz Boochani

Women of Kurdistan

I will talk to you of Kurdistan and mountains, of beautiful trees and rare flowers.  I will talk of wild rivers, tall waterfalls and amazing music.  I will talk of my father, the shepherd, who was inseparable from nature.  I will talk of my mother who worked too hard to find something for us to eat and, when there was none, lay our heads on her lap and sung us beautiful stories to make us sleep. I will talk to you of Kurdistan made a battle-field, of a childhood filled with war,  of 50,000 Kurds killed on one day by chemical weapons, of our soil soaked in blood.  I will talk to you of Kurdistan and the women I admire.  The women of Kurdistan who fight, sing and dance.  The women who fight, sing and dance.

-Behrouz Boochani – Manus 2015

The Black Kite

Over Manus Island,
a black kite flies.
A few youths –
still with energy
to bear the difficulties
of this prison camp  –
made it.
The black kite flies,
a messenger of freedom
for us, the forgotten prisoners.
It circles
higher and higher
above the camp,
above the beautiful coconuts.
Our eyes follow its flight,
it seems to want to tear its rope.
It breaks free,
dances towards the ocean,
flies far and again farther
until no one can see it.
The youths stare into the empty sky
after their impossible dream.

-Behrouz Boochani, 2015
Translation by Ali Parsaei and Janet Galbraith

An Obvious and Official Hostage Taking

“To the Australian people,

In the heart of the dark night, I yell out through the mass of metallic and hard fences. Surrounded by agony and torture, I yell out right next to the tropical birds, thousands of kilometres away from the people’s world, in the heart of a remote island located in the corner of the vastest ocean in the world. In the name of humanity and freedom, I yell out…”

An Obvious and Official Hostage Taking

Crying on a remote island

I know a man who did not talk with his small daughter, son and wife for 29 months. His family live on a dry land on the border of Pakistan and Afghanistan. I talked with him in Manus Prison when they took us during the hunger strike and put us in that dirty jail. He was crying and when I put me hands on his shoulder and asked him why he was crying. He looked at me and said: ‘I am not crying for myself. My heart is heavy for my small daughter and son’.

Read Crying on a remote island by Behrouz Boochani in full.

 

 

Behrouz Boochani – PEN International

Behrouz Boochani was featured as a case of concern by PEN International on Human Rights day 2015.  They write:

’10 December 2015
PEN International is deeply concerned by the detention of Kurdish-Iranian journalist Behrouz Boochani, who has been held in Australia’s offshore Immigration Detention Centre on Manus Island, in Papua New Guinea for the past two years. He has sought asylum is Australia since July 2013.’

See more at: http://www.pen-international.org/newsitems/human-rights-day-take-action-for-kurdish-iranian-journalist-behrouz-boochani/

The Chauka by Behrouz Boochani

Other posts about Behrouz Boochani on the RAPBS site

My mother, Reza’s mother and Fazel’s mother are crying together

Fazel’s village is near Reza Barati’s. Their villages are beside a river and a high high mountain. My home is near their homes. There is only a mountain between us. A mountain and a river between our homes.

My mother climbed up the mountain today and went to Fazel’s mother’s home.

My mother, Reza’s mother and Fazel’s mother are crying together.

I heard Seymare river is crying with them.

Under Fazel’s village is one of the most ancient and oldest cities in the world. It is called Sirwan. They are crying on the oldest city for Reza and Fazel.

I heard that all of Kurdistan’s beautiful mountain’s are crying. All of Sirwan is crying – mountain, river, wild flowers… All of Sirwan is crying with out mothers.

I hear the oldest songs the mothers are singing in Ilam city, Sirwan and Kurdistan. I hear their voices crying from this Manus prison.

I hear the oldest song from the mothers. It is called Moor.

Moor is the oldest song the Kurdish mothers sing for their boys and warriors who lose their lives fighting with enemies that attack Kurdistan land. It is a song for brave sons.

Fazel and Reza were brave sons. They fought for their lives with the Australian government and the dark ocean.

When I was in Kurdistan, many times I climbed up that highest mountain. There are the oldest oak trees there. I hear the oak trees are crying too.

My heart is so heavy because I heard the deepest sorrow Moor from my mother today.

I have never heard a Moor like this Moor that Reza’s, Fazel’s and my mother are singing.

This is Kurdish culture. We are born by song, live by song, fight by song and die by song.

I feel deepest sorrow because of Fazel’s death.

He deserves the deepest Moor song.

My heart is heavy because I am crying and listening to Moor for my best friend in a prison on the remotest island in the world.

I never thought I would hear Moor for the bravest of Kurdish sons in a remote island in the heart of a big ocean.

I always think about the Moor my mother will sing for me when I die.

I thought that song would be sung in beautiful Kurdistan. I am sure Reza and Fazel thought like me but their lives were taken in remote places, not in Kurdistan.

They lost their lives because of injustice.

They lost their lives in a foreign land.

Who was there when their lives were taken?

My mother, Reza’s mother and Fazel’s mother are together singing the deepest Moor.

– Behrouz Boochani
(Kurdish journalist incarcerated Australia’s black site on Manus Island)