A POEM AS AN OPEN LETTER / By Dr. Amir Sharifi My Last Column : In Memory of the Kurdish journalist Kawa Germyani

Dec 5, 2013.

Dear readers,

this is my last column!

You may wonder why.

If you had read my column,

you would have known

that I have been threatened,

even beaten up once by ten hoodlums

I have been the target of toxic smears and untold vulgarities,

for exposing profiteering professional politicians and their hangmen.


I have put my life on the line,

They are afraid of my guts.

They are furious about my fever of uncovering truth,

deep and wide.

They would send their assassins to bury in my body the facts.


But I have denounced their corruption

I have found evidence of their decadence

of their insatiable avarice,

of blood dripping from their political operatives, their speculations, and business dealings,

of their deceit,

of their conceit, and betrayal of our values

of our pillaged land and our citizens’ rights


Dear readers!

this is my last column!

I have reported accounts of their threats and indignities.

I have filed a formal complaint in Garmian court, my hometown, to no avail.

Their inaction haunts me.

I keep thinking of the tragic destiny of other crusading writers, journalists, women, and activists: Sardasht Osman,www.Ekurd.net Soran Mama Omar, Karim Osman, Abdulsarat Sharif, Mohamad Bajalan, Farhad Faraj, Renas Abunasir…

In violent likeness,

They have now assigned assassins to me,

beseeched by the greedy power of swindlers and speculators.


Dear readers!

This is my last column!

Like others they will shoot me.

The nomadic winds of Garmian will carry the sad news of my death.

I will be probably sitting at home,

sipping on my tea,

still reading “The Sayings of Timeless Thinkers”,

I left it on the floor last night.

I will occasionally skim the daily paper, which is on the TV stand.

I will probably be checking the last preparations for our first new baby only days away.

The Book of New names is still in the middle of my living room.

The other night with my wife we went over it in search of a beautiful name for our new son.

I will also talk to my wife about our first wedding anniversary which is a week away.

I will enjoy a little bit of the garbanzo beans soup we have made for dinner.

I will finish a press report for Awena Newspaper.


Dear readers!

The executioners may strike anytime tonight.

I never knew that they would politely knock on my door,

with their ready made bullets meant for my heart.

These Jashes (traitors) right in the front of my poor mother

would kill me in cold blood as they have been ordered.

I would bleed to death on my poor mother’s lap.

The world will then be able to witness the bloodstains on my shirt

and the bullets piercing through the concrete threshold of my simple house,

still awaiting the birth of my son.

consecrated with love,

with boxes of Rayall Magazines

that censors generously erased from public view.


Forgive me my poor mother!

For I cannot offer you solace from your immense sadness.

Forgive me my dear wife!

for I had promised you a bright life full of love.

Forgive me Karwan, my poor and heart broken brother

for drowning you in such immeasurable grief and burden.

Forgive me my yet to be born son!

I will not be around to sing lullabies of kindness to you.

I will not be in the world to teach you about the marvels of life.

I hope you will not be a lonely child,

Like you I was the born grandson of the horrific spectacle of Infal massacre.

Our revolution was in the name of freedom and respect for all our people, hundreds of thousands of whom fell.

We have endured untold suffering,

in a slaughtered land left in ruins,

and still holding up mourning monuments.


We are still defenders of light and liberty

against the homegrown evil power of those who are stealing our promises of prosperity, and turning our rich and afflicted land into their own private property.


Dear readers!

Dear friends and relatives!

Dear citizens of the world!

Forgive me!

For this is my last announcement.

I have put my life on the line.

But it is all for a good cause.

My enemies are floundering,


of my only weapon,

a pen in hand.

of my only ink ,

the tales of your heartaches.

At midnight when the moon is high in the cool sky of Kalar,

on December 5

When most of my hometown folks are asleep,

I will be killed.

The assassins will deny the crime.

The perpetrators will not be put behind bars.

They will shamelessly express their condolences to my family and friends.


Dear readers!

This is my last column!

Forgive me for brining you the sad news,

but I will die for life with a clear conscience.

I struggled against monstrosity and treachery,

that is darkening my land.

My blood will run through the veins of your dreams.

It was a great honor to write for and about you.

Under my heavy eyelids I can see the mythical Kawa, our blacksmith,

singing our ancient chant of freedom.

Never will our voice of fire on the anvil cool,

Nor will the flag of our freedom furl,

until our loving land is free and fair for everyone.

Dr. Amir Sharifi – President of the Kurdish American Education Society-Los Angeles.

– Dr Amir Sharifi, is the president of the Kurdish American Education Society KAES, Los Angeles, California and Lecturer at California State University, Long Beach. Director of the Kurdish Human Rights Advocacy Group ( KHRAG).