My name is Nevzat Encü
My name is Nevzat Encü
My name is Nevzat Encü.
At the age of 19, I was carrying the weight of the hardship of a family on my shoulders, together with my father
I had one year left to finish the high school and to be enrolled in a fine department of a university. I was going to acquire a good profession and provide a good life form my family that regarded me as their hope
It was not only me who was carrying this weight at this age, my cousin Þirvan (Þêrvan) and my classmate Cemal were also in the same situation
Poverty and its weight flops down the people at very young ages in the village of Roboski. Among us who were there that night, there were some who should have instead listened to a fairy tale and gone into sleep. The five of the thirty four were children at the age of thirteen
The border which was suddenly put between us and our relatives changed the name of our dealing as smuggling. And you believed that
How should I say, dont you worry about that
Going smuggling was a kind of being simurgh and fluttering behind the kaf mountain Going smuggling meant going to your hopes and the journey to hope wouldnt trouble the rain, mud, snow or storm
We didnt trouble them that night too, because poverty wouldnt trouble them It wasnt only us who didnt trouble them! The bombs rained on us thought me that operations dont trouble the rain and mud either
I saw a hurting view which side ever I turned and looked at, my furiously burning friends at each side
It didnt last very long, the brave pilot hit me too, right on target! I too ate the cursed fruit of that iron winged bird, my scream pierced the
sevenfold sky, the pilot and his companions said hurrah seven times, and they were able to find only seven parts of my body
My name is Nevzat Encü, the second of eight siblings, i knew not which one of the thirty four whose houses caught fire
Including me, seven students lessened in the class
Roboskî is a grief now growing like an everblooming
Do you hear the rebel of my seven siblings?
This may annoy you but I have several words to say;
I demand justice,
If the bombs that killed me didnt kill the justice too
Doesnt everyone have the right to justice?
Or,
Should I apologize to the state because it has warted those huge, expensive bombs for killing me,
Should I thank the General Staff for not missing the target and for killing me!?
* Platform for Justice for Roboski publishes the life story of 34 people from the villages of Roboski and Gülyazý who were killed by bombs on 28 December, 2011. These stories which will be published for 34 days are also sent to the offices of President, Prime Minister, Ministry of Justice and Interior Ministry via fax and mail.
At the age of 19, I was carrying the weight of the hardship of a family on my shoulders, together with my father
I had one year left to finish the high school and to be enrolled in a fine department of a university. I was going to acquire a good profession and provide a good life form my family that regarded me as their hope
It was not only me who was carrying this weight at this age, my cousin Þirvan (Þêrvan) and my classmate Cemal were also in the same situation
Poverty and its weight flops down the people at very young ages in the village of Roboski. Among us who were there that night, there were some who should have instead listened to a fairy tale and gone into sleep. The five of the thirty four were children at the age of thirteen
The border which was suddenly put between us and our relatives changed the name of our dealing as smuggling. And you believed that
How should I say, dont you worry about that
Going smuggling was a kind of being simurgh and fluttering behind the kaf mountain Going smuggling meant going to your hopes and the journey to hope wouldnt trouble the rain, mud, snow or storm
We didnt trouble them that night too, because poverty wouldnt trouble them It wasnt only us who didnt trouble them! The bombs rained on us thought me that operations dont trouble the rain and mud either
I saw a hurting view which side ever I turned and looked at, my furiously burning friends at each side
It didnt last very long, the brave pilot hit me too, right on target! I too ate the cursed fruit of that iron winged bird, my scream pierced the
sevenfold sky, the pilot and his companions said hurrah seven times, and they were able to find only seven parts of my body
My name is Nevzat Encü, the second of eight siblings, i knew not which one of the thirty four whose houses caught fire
Including me, seven students lessened in the class
Roboskî is a grief now growing like an everblooming
Do you hear the rebel of my seven siblings?
This may annoy you but I have several words to say;
I demand justice,
If the bombs that killed me didnt kill the justice too
Doesnt everyone have the right to justice?
Or,
Should I apologize to the state because it has warted those huge, expensive bombs for killing me,
Should I thank the General Staff for not missing the target and for killing me!?
* Platform for Justice for Roboski publishes the life story of 34 people from the villages of Roboski and Gülyazý who were killed by bombs on 28 December, 2011. These stories which will be published for 34 days are also sent to the offices of President, Prime Minister, Ministry of Justice and Interior Ministry via fax and mail.
