My name is Þêrvan Encü
My name is Þêrvan Encü
My name is Þêrvan Encü.
A nineteen year-old, lionhearted, courageous brave man
I used to dream of being a driver like my father. That must be why I could continue to go to school only until the ninth class
I used to love sleeping, and my mother me She wouldnt have the heart to wake up from sleep
Although my father said me that; Being a driver is not for those who like sleeping. You should choose either sleeping or being driver, I didnt used to lend an ear as I thought it was yet early for me to choose to not to sleep
I got up early that day, when my father wasnt home, so that I could have enough time to convince my mother to allow me to go smuggling that day. I know that my father would have never allowed me if he had been home that day. Till the evening time, I danced attendance on mother and did whatever was necessary to find favour in her eyes
As I was going with my cousin Nevzat and some other friends, it wasnt very difficult to get her to agree. And I went
Each of us was singing a song for someone; some of us for their children, some for their beloved ones, and some for their people I used to sing my song for my donkey, yes for a donkey Can you sing a song for a donkey?
Our songs were hit that night when the ground became white and the sky black! Some of us died burning and some others freezing! All of us had dreams which were hiding and they broke to pieces
Mummy! was my last scream. My mothers hands always chilled as she put woods in the heating stove. I used to take her hands in mines and warm them up. Now that I am dead, who will warm her hands up? I was the dearest child of my mother. I wonder what kind of a feeling it is to kill a beloved person.
I was the second of nine siblings, now they call me one of the thirty four
Official records write Þirvan but my name is Þêrvan Encü. Þêrvan means lion hunter
The bomb was stuck in my back like a poniard! I was hit on my back! Is this the way Þêrvans always die!?
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.
A nineteen year-old, lionhearted, courageous brave man
I used to dream of being a driver like my father. That must be why I could continue to go to school only until the ninth class
I used to love sleeping, and my mother me She wouldnt have the heart to wake up from sleep
Although my father said me that; Being a driver is not for those who like sleeping. You should choose either sleeping or being driver, I didnt used to lend an ear as I thought it was yet early for me to choose to not to sleep
I got up early that day, when my father wasnt home, so that I could have enough time to convince my mother to allow me to go smuggling that day. I know that my father would have never allowed me if he had been home that day. Till the evening time, I danced attendance on mother and did whatever was necessary to find favour in her eyes
As I was going with my cousin Nevzat and some other friends, it wasnt very difficult to get her to agree. And I went
Each of us was singing a song for someone; some of us for their children, some for their beloved ones, and some for their people I used to sing my song for my donkey, yes for a donkey Can you sing a song for a donkey?
Our songs were hit that night when the ground became white and the sky black! Some of us died burning and some others freezing! All of us had dreams which were hiding and they broke to pieces
Mummy! was my last scream. My mothers hands always chilled as she put woods in the heating stove. I used to take her hands in mines and warm them up. Now that I am dead, who will warm her hands up? I was the dearest child of my mother. I wonder what kind of a feeling it is to kill a beloved person.
I was the second of nine siblings, now they call me one of the thirty four
Official records write Þirvan but my name is Þêrvan Encü. Þêrvan means lion hunter
The bomb was stuck in my back like a poniard! I was hit on my back! Is this the way Þêrvans always die!?
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.
