A student of Istanbul:
A student of science was giving an interview to a reporter in the cafe of Istanbul. He said I know we are losing for decades. We are in a state of war. We are just rolling in between east and west. Our kings were fighting for thrones when the west was making a train. Our scholars were giving judgments against the printing machine. While the west was printing books around the clock. We lost our future in wars. While the future was all about science, education, and politics. But we wasted our time in fighting for the game of thrones. We have to win this war. If we lose this time, we will have nowhere to escape. We have to fight for our survival. If we do not take a stand right now then there will be no use of our descendant’s struggles. We cannot leave a piece of land without freedom and a flag for our children. We have to rise again. We cannot survive under someone else’s flag’s shadow. We cannot breathe in foreign air.
A boy of Balkan battlefield:
He was sitting behind the camp, under a tree. He was alone there with his flute. He looked up, towards the cloudy blue sky. He was not sure about the sky but he was sure about the color of the earth. The earth was going to paint itself into blood-red paint. He was a handsome boy with a very melodious voice.
Then why he was sitting on the battlefield of Balkan….
Every action has a purpose. He was there for his coming generation. That 19 years old boy was there in the battle zone. He used to sing peaceful songs. He knew that he and his coming generations cannot sing in another language. He was there for the protection of his native language. He put his throat in front of a spear. His last words vanished in the air. Now his people do a celebration for their independence. They do sing in their language, but they might do not know someone had to sacrifice his vocal cords for the survival of these melodious voices.
A prisoner of Bapheus battlefield:
A man was sitting in the corner of a dark and damp cell. He left his newborn and his wife for the other thousands of children. The state was his mother. And he was obliged to defend its soil. He was captured as a prisoner from the battlefield of Bapheus. He fought against the Byzantine Empire. All he has now was the socks of his baby. That man was getting old and old in the cell. His only option of survival was the aroma of his kid. He was not with his son. But he reunited thousands of children with their fathers. Every night on the dinner table families sit together, but they might never know who has suffered separation for their unity.
A soldier of Tarabulus:
A soldier was dying on the battlefield of Tarabulus. He knew that when a soldier sees a dream then the world becomes obliged to bring a change. He knew that God made this place his motherland. He put the love of motherland in his heart. He knew that the sky is hope. While taking last breathes, he said…
O beautiful moon
The symbol of the martyr
There are tears of mothers behind this flattering flag
I was born in you and I will die within your soil
Give me a grave in your wide chest
In your chest with a crescent and star
Accept me, my mother
I fought for you
For your survival…
Heroes of Indo-Pak partition:
People were struggling because they want a change in the map of the world. Those people were never supposed to be the servants. They were born to rule the world. Though they were less in number. But they still stood up against the great giant of that time. As freedom lies in the blood. So they colored the streams, wells, and rivers with their blood. They were moving towards a new state by leaving behind everything. But still, the infidels did not let them go. They killed people who were just seeking for an atmosphere full of freedom. Those hopeful eyes were just looking for a soil where they could do prostration. There were generous hands who wanted to distribute the meat of slaughtered animals without any fear. But those heads were beheaded, those hands were cut without any mercy. Those people gave every sacrifice because that was the time to pay for freedom. And they paid the heaviest prices.
A martyr of 1965:
Patrolling vehicles were picking up martyrs and wounded soldiers from the battlefield. Some words of a martyr’s eyes were uttering. His soulless eyes were still shining and saying that I see some enlightened bodies in the fog. They will be our descendants. They will know that we fought for them. We die for them. They will do proud of us.
Time has memory:
People say time is cruel. But it is not. It remembers what we forget. Time gives something to every generation. But also takes something back. The most precious gift of time in every era, in every tenure, is a soldier. We forget them or we may know some of them. But time has listened to every last whisper of a soldier. Time knows which prisoner uttered the last poem from his mouth. Time knows which soldier’s last breath said, I love You My Country. Because time remembers…