DON'T FORGET
DEN KSEHNO

The Holly island, the divided island...
staring at the 2.000 A.C... STILL suffering and testing... !

I was born in Athens, Greece, where I lived the most of my life, until my
father's working obligations brought my family and me to live in Cyprus,
which is a beautiful island located at the eastern Mediterranean Sea.

Our new house is in Lefkosia, the capitol of Cyprus, the unique city,
the only and last one in Europe which is still divided.
In the civilized Europe of 2000!
My father's birth place is a pretty village in Cyprus called Morphou,
only 30 miles away from Lefkosia and zero miles away from our harts...
Morphou is occupied by theTurkish troops since 1974, as many
other villages, too, and is not allowed for the Greek Cypriots to approach
or go further the "green line" which is called also "Dead zone".

My father's house is there, waiting us for 24 years now
to go and take care of it... and although my heart greatly wants
to go, see and learn about the place where my forefathers
are burying and my roots are, I can only stare my dearly place
from a distance and this is a rough reality that no heart can stand...

Ah, civilized and free people out there...
Do you know what our feelings are, when, opening in the morning
our window, have in front of our eyes the view of our beloved
mountain "Pentadaktylos" with the small Greek villages scrambling
at it's sides, the green forests and the clear running waters,
unrecognized now, from the destruction the conqueror has done,
digging our dear mountain, hurting it's beautiful side,
to draw on it, an enormous Turkish flag...
It's like a knife, which every day is getting deeper and deeper
in our hearts... It is the most inhuman violence against our feelings,
against our love for this beautiful country, against the respect
and protection we ought to show to our land.

Letter to my "Sweet fatherly house"

"Sweet fatherly house, you're in my grandma's everyday falling tear...
For 24 years now, you're so close, though so far to reach you!

Some quiet summer nights I like to go to a small hill and stare at your area... those nights which the warm breeze brings me the sound of your weeping
and your secret invitation... those nights which I feel I can hear my dad's
and his brothers laughter to resound in your rooms, like when they were kids... Those nights which I can smell the fragrance of the jasmines blooming in your garden and the marsh- mind and basil growing in the pots on the frame of all
of your windows... and those moments I want to run to you... to reach and touch every corner, every little stone of yours and let you drive me from one
room to the other, from the entrance to the backyard, to start knowing you
from span to span...

I'm so sorry and so ashamed that I never came to you... that I was never been able to go to my grand-father's grave to put some oil to light his night-lamp,
to leave him some fresh flowers from those he was planting and taking care, spending hours in his garden... I see the same feelings in my father's eyes,
every time I'm asking him to tell me more about you... and I try to find out
some reasonable answers to give to the children I will have one day, when
they will ask to know why they can't go to their grand-father's house...
I'm ashamed for letting you ruining through the pass of the years.
For the strangers who came and violated you;
For the little church in your area, where my father's family used to go often,
with devotion and piety to pray to God and now the conqueror use it as a
stable for his animals...
For the school, where the kids were educated and now only spiders
are making their webs...
For your silent sobbing 24 years now...
But I'm so small to change this crime! I want to do something about it,
but I know that one person's voice does not stand for much, though,
I'm telling you honestly, that I"m fighting for a better world...
I'll never give up on you, 'cause you're part of me, 'cause I keep up hoping
for the day of our freedom, 'cause every day I find you in the crying eyes of those mothers who are still mourning the loss of their sons.

And you Turkish mother who lost your son, I respect you and if you're still weeping for him, ask your leaders: "Why you sent our children to a foreign
land, in which we had no right to be?"

One young Turkish-Cypriot girl wrote: " They teach us to love and respect our country. I hear often my father too, telling me this... But my country is shared in two... Which part I must love?"

Sweet fatherly house... They don't let me come to you... I never saw you...
but I know every span of yours and I keep you deeply in my heart.
I close my eyes and I'm coming to you often.
I give you a promise. I will continue to resist to this unjust, this
continuing crime and I believe that all the civilized and free people of this world are with us and will help us... "cause those who aren't, are
not civilized... are not free..."

(Detachment from the dairy "Tear drops in the Sky" © Anna Char 1997)

1619 STILL MISSING PERSONS

May God, keep you safe and light up your way back.
Back HOME, to your families, to us.
We never forget you, we love you, we're waiting for your return.

(The 1619 still missing persons are Greek-Cypriots and among
them, are some American citizens too. They are war prisoners,
caught by the Turkish troops which invaded in Cyprus, in 1974
and occupied by force the 1/3 of the island.
Turkey and the Turkish-Cypriot leader, for 24 years now,
refuse to tell us if they are alive or not,
or where they keep them).

Please, put the above graphic on your page.
Help us bring them Home!

Cyprus Anthem
( O Ethnikos Ymnos tis Kyprou)

This page express nobody but the author.
Designed and maintained by Anna Char. © 1997-98

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