Where does this power come from that makes them fight? What is it that makes them so determined? What is it that makes them stand up so passionately for freedom and strike the enemy in rage? Where do they find the courage to challenge death? Is it about killing death? Or is it one of the gates that lead to a free life? For the guerrillas, it seems to be the best gate. They have set out and no one can stop them anymore. On this path there is no return and the fighters know that you can't give up halfway and that the way is exhausting and difficult. No power in the world can force them to return.

This way leads to Imrali. It leads to the free country that has been painfully missed for years. It leads to a free personality, which otherwise only occurs in dreams. This is the path the guerrillas have taken. They hold weapons in their hands, have the ammunition belt wrapped around their hips, carry backpacks and water and bread on their shoulders. They wear mekap shoes on their feet and a smile on their face. In front of them lies a heavy and steep path, around them are trees and rocks that protect them. At their feet is the ground that makes them accelerate their steps. In their pockets they have photos of their companion Abdullah Öcalan, in their backpacks they have what their friends who fell before them have left behind. In their hearts is love and friendship, in their minds victory. They have condemned everything else.

They fight because they know they have to. They fight to protect the companions behind them and to defend the soil for which so much blood has already been shed. They are fighting against the occupying forces to not let their memories in the mountains go into their hands. They fight with the memory of hundreds of friends buried under the ground. In the resistance of Heftanin they fight without ever losing the smile on their faces. With this, they always set out again. What remains are two sentences left behind by guerrilla fighter Armanç Kerboran: "Even if forty million bullets are waiting for us in your rifle barrels... You can't stop us anymore!"

May thorns pierce the feet of the soldiers who walk through the beautiful nature of the colorful region of Heftanin in the mountains of Kurdistan. May the thorns make their feet bleed. May the green grass that caresses the hands of the guerrillas cut the skin of the enemy soldiers like a knife. May they experience the violence of the rain and wind. May they fall to the ground, so that the occupation never again rules in the high and lonely Kurdistan. May they fall and never get up again, so that the cruelty comes to an end.

May the storms make them deaf so that they do not hear the voices of the fighters. May they lose their way and never find their way back when they set out in search of the guerrillas. May they burn in the blazing fire of the guerrillas to teach a lesson to the state, which sent them to these mountains without regret. May their hearts turn to ashes, so that not even the eagles flying freely in the mountains can get hold of them and bring the heart of the occupation to other lands. May the indomitable hills rise before them, peaks that have long been overcome by the guerrillas. May the guerrillas be filled with the energy of the sun and commitment, may all paths open to them.

May the hidden power in the universe, which I believe has created us, and the Goddess or God or whatever it might be called, protect the guerrillas who are fighting for freedom in Heftanin. May they be protected so that the world becomes a little more human.

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