In my imagination, I was thinking about a revolutionary anthem. It is worth mentioning that I was only thinking about it, not reciting it. That is to say, inside my head, for instance, I was wondering how the poetry of that anthem must have been created in the mind of its poet. I must emphasize that I am a serious reader of literary texts. Even though I have never put two sentences together myself and am neither a poet nor a writer, it was out of a sudden love for words that caught me at one point in my life that I devoted myself to reading books. At first, whatever I could get my hands on, I would read, because the only important thing for me was the words, not the sentences, nor the meaning and content of the books. I wanted to expose myself to the torrent of words, just like someone stepping into the middle of a river, standing still, and watching the flow of the water. Like that person, every now and then I would get dizzy from the whirlpool, that is to say, take this comparison of mine completely literally.

Gradually, the books I was reading became more specialized. Slowly, I found myself drawn toward philosophy, but eventually, I found no refuge other than poetry and among it all, the poetry of a specific group of poets whose number did not exceed the fingers of both hands. Now, for years, I have been eagerly reading everything they write, and beyond them, I dare not waste my precious time reading anything else. Unfortunately, they produce work very rarely too, and sometimes I go weeks without a poem, which is a catastrophe. After being immersed in the world of words for a long time, I gradually managed to earn their trust, and a friendship formed between us. From then on, the words and I had become like the people of the same village. I knew those who belonged to my own neighborhood much better, and the farther they got from it, the less familiar we became; yet, since we were all from the same village, we knew one another, near or far. I can never understand how people fail to digest and grasp the weight of words in their minds. Every word is like a human being: it appears different under various circumstances, but nevertheless, the core personality of a human is like the semantic and internal weight of words unchanging. For instance, when you say “ice,” you feel the cold.

That is the personality of that word, it has a cold personality. But say “frost” until evening, and see if you ever feel the cold? That is the difference in the weight of words, and well, a good poet must know this. On the other hand, synonymous words are never truly synonymous, just as no two human beings can ever be identical. “Pain” and “Ache” are synonyms, but the semantic weight and the impact each leaves behind are different. This is something only a person who has lived with books and words can understand. For this very reason, I generally have no trust in any translation. Translation never conveys the thing as it truly is. Of course, I am overly sensitive; otherwise, other people who do not scrutinize words in such a hysterical and obsessive way do not have this problem.

Yes, as I was saying. It is true that I had not come across any good poetry to read for a while, which is why in my mind I was thinking about a revolutionary anthem, and for this very crime I have been detained—and I take no issue with it—but believe me, Inspector, I am no revolutionary. I am merely fond of words. Listen to this, the poet says:

«Oh enemy, the Kurdish-speaking nation still remains»

«Oh» has a directional weight, like an arrow. «Enemy» has a rigid, rough, and awkward semantic weight, and the psychological weight of the word stirs up human hatred and anger. «Still» is something like a rope, as if it has bound two things together. «Remains» is like stomping a foot on the ground; it sounds like the rhythmic heavy steps of three or four lead dancers stomping together in perfect unison. «Nation» has a shy, modest weight. «Kurd» is a bit difficult, I am not sure what weight it carries. Once, I asked a girl from Tehran, “When you hear the word Kurd, what do you think of?” She said it depends on whether it is over my head or if I am over it. I did not fully understand what she meant, but I swear she was not a revolutionary either, she was just a little tired. «Language» is a light-weighted word. That is to say, it sits right in the middle, leaning heavily to neither side, neither male nor female. Now, if we translate this very word «language», in Persian it becomes «Zaban»; the semantic weight of Zaban is very sly and cunning, look, notice it when I say it: Zaban… In English, when they say «Language», it carries a very dominant and haughty weight. Overall, as I said, translation is a futile task; I do not know how people who know both languages do not go mad from feeling these differences. Then, when it says: «The wheel of time shall not break…» Where are they taking me? Inspector, believe me, I was only thinking about a national anthem, it does not necessarily mean that anyone who thinks about a national anthem is a nationalist. Inspector, where are they taking me? Look at the word Inspector, it automatically reminds you of a beetle… Inspector, I was only thinking… Inspector. Mr. Beetle. I have done nothing.