#108 Workers Life

Raise that black chai high!

Serchevan! Nine hours of fire later and for now the tea is now gone.

A flat land of wheat and Masood is where I start.

I can read the human heart, I can take over crowds with no mike. Kurdish, Assyrian, Arab alike.

I was trained to fire from a dirt bike. At close range into enemy face not vest,

You cannot run from an airstrike. We’re doing our best.

The terror, the horror is rife,

And you know I’m all about that struggle person life.

And you know I’m living wrong.

I save lives sometimes, but sometimes we take them with an AK or the edge of a knife.

I need a Dragonov wife.

I gave her something to believe, and then death flowed freely.

Laela Naesh (live your life), believe me ill need you to see me. Indomitably!

Go in, crowd control it, and survive if you can to sort the plot points out,

Was your vision clear, motivation high, did you walk away understanding what this revolt was all about?

Live your life!

It’s not more important! A smile and a blush formed over the thrill of a save or a kill.

I have to hold you tight, into the life of night, show you the strength of my resilience, my sheer Kurdish will.

Black tea for you, for us all, here comes the debka circle dance, for those about to stand, and those about to fall. Middle East says winner take all.

Shahid namaray, were dancing for the dead. Put that bright kafia around your neck, and visions in your head.

And believe me, was the last thing she said, we believe in this struggle as if it were love,

Push came shove,

And then she was dead.

When the great revolt is over I’ll take ya,

To far away Haiti and also to Jamaica.

To wine ya, to shake ya.

Trinidad is the place I’m secretly from. Wickedest wine and brownest rum. Take away all my suffering pain,

Return me soon to the city of Port of Spain.

Perwerde,

 

You cannot run from an airstrike.

But you can kill a man with gun play from a dirt bike.

These are dangerous front lines where freedom will die or prevail in bullets hail,

I’m a medium dangerous man so I’ll take you there in the event of a hike, a hike toward some violent truth, things the future will need not the present will like.

We’ve been fighting so long it breaks my resolve, I many times bleed, I have no longer some sense of those things that I loved, I wanted for happy or id likely even need.

I’m not highly seduced by TV or the material creed. I have a militant mind set developed to fight, ethically sound and morally right, based on what loved comrades suffered not things we read.

Black tea for you, for us all, here comes the debka circle dance, for those about to stand, and those about to fall. Middle East says winner take all.

Shahid namaray, were dancing for the dead. Put that bright kafia around your neck, and visions in your head.

And believe me, was the last thing she said, we believe in this struggle as if it were love,

Push came shove,

And then she was dead.

 

It’s harder now to breathe,

It’s a struggle sometimes, just to remember to believe.

Now im treading water for the loose ends. Capitalist modernity has the manacles for loyalists, serfs as well as the play pretends.

I remember breaking pita bread with hand grenades traded, I remember the names of my latest dead friends read on the TV, signal style far faded. And we all try to see,

What they took from Syria and your people wasn’t exactly what was taken from me.

Of course the jihadists also attacked my city, never again, that’s what patriots still say. Never forget 911, means never pity or play.

And it’s wonderful, to get to see your bright eyes. It’s wonderful to not be judged for the monster or the radical some would make me out to be. They say I believe too much Middle Eastern logic, thinking too democratic confederally.

Black tea for you, for us all, here comes the debka circle dance, for those about to stand and those about to fall.

Shahid namaray, were dancing for the living and the dead. Put that bright kafia around your neck, and motivations in your head.

I was just trying to live life free. I was trying to get my blade marks into the tree of history, maybe. I was trying to give my big apple comrades something to believe, but there was nothing up my sleeve.

No reinforcements to release us, quite a lot of cadro talk is still land of make deceive.

What’s an AK to an airstrike? What’s a dvotchka with a dotchka to a modern tank? Before we treaded in the ghettos and mountain bunkers, then we soared and then Afrin sank.

Now watch me run the crowd control, on these trains airplanes and human tapestry of crowds. I do it confident and loud, they trained the craziest for the best, and those of us who would survive the war were no faster than the rest.

The changes we made with Kalashnikovs was not what this revolution needed most or particularly Best.

 

Thunder, lightning now many of our hevals are one by one dead. Martyrs never die. I

In Rojava, you point to your poster, they nod and say what a truly dangerous gal or ideological guy.

But we keep the red, green yellow flying high.

And you can bury yourself when the right moment comes, but they still know how to kill us from the sky.

 

Black tea for you, for us all, here comes the debka circle dance, for those about to stand, and those about to fall. Middle East says winner take all.

Shahid namaray, were dancing for the dead. Put that bright kafia around your neck, and visions in your head.

And believe me, was the last thing she said, we believe in this struggle as if it were love,

Push came shove,

And then she was dead.