Ahmad Muxtar Jaff's diwan

 1.

Ahmad Muxtar was arrested while attempting to pass through the realm of Mahmud Barzanji. At the time, relations between the Kurdish movement and the ruling Jaff family of Halabja were strained. 

Muxtar appears to have understood exactly how to appeal to Mahmud. He frames his request for freedom not as a protest, but as an affirmation of loyalty to the Kurdish struggle and a celebration of the ruler’s virtues. The petition is carefully crafted to resonate both politically and emotionally, blending devotion, humility, and shared political sentiment. Barzanji responded quickly and released him upon receiving the letter and its accompanying poem: 

O gentle wind, carry all that is honest within me and place it in the service of the king whose dominion extends over all Sulaymani.

May I be sacrificed for you, O Saladin Ayyubi! Strong of hand as Haydar, handsome as Joseph.

Praise and thanks be to God, who delivered us from the hands of the unbelievers through your hand, your sword, and your determination. O Lion of God!

O Lord, keep the evil eye from him. Protect him by Your grace, for the sake of the Master of the Messengers and through the spirit of the Shah of Gilan.

And now, after all these praises, I put a question to the sovereign of our age: What crime has Ahmad committed that he should be thrown into prison?

If it has been proved that he failed in your service, then forgive him. Your generosity is great, and you are the source of all benevolence. A ruler loses nothing by showing mercy.

But if no crime has been committed, why should your humble servant remain behind bars?

Alone in his confinement, he reflects upon the conduct of men and the duties they owe one another.

If Your Excellency requires a guarantor, let my estate stand as security, a hundred times over. I pledge it in honour and in faith.

Until his dying day, he shall remain in the service of the King of Kurdistan. He will give his life for every command and every decree.

I consider this imprisonment an honour, provided that it serves the dignity of the Kurds. What is the suffering of one man beside the honour of a people?

I am your servant. May your favour never cease.

By your incomparable and sacred person, by the light of Ahmad, the Chosen Messenger, I swear by every verse of the Qur’an: have mercy upon this servant of yours.

Do not look upon his faults, his mistakes, or his forgetfulness. A man is not without failings, and even the most faithful servant may stumble.

Muxtar has nothing left but your mercy. No other plea remains to him.

His friends have been unable to help him. His kinsmen have failed him, and those he loves have not come to his aid. He stands alone. All that remains is to appeal to the generosity of the king.

(parts of the original poem are recited here)

2. 

A voice reaches me, burdened with sorrow. It is a voice of lamentation, of mourning and tears. I know it well, for it rises from within my own breast. It is the longing for the soil of Kurdistan, a longing that no distance can silence.

Look upon the Kurdish people today. They stand abandoned, without friends, without protection, oppressed on every side. One day they are beneath the Turk, the next beneath the Persian. Their masters change, but their condition remains the same. Conscience and justice exist only as words. Their meaning has long since been emptied out. Politicians repeat them when it suits their purpose, and the people are left with nothing.

If justice truly exists in this world, then answer me: why do Kurdish children still wander homeless through the mountain passes? Why are they without a place to call their own?

So many have descended upon the wealth of Kurdistan. They have come to kill, to plunder, to strip the land of everything it possesses. They arrive in one wave after another, their camel caravans laden with the spoils. And the Kurd? He is caught between Turks, Persians and Arabs, like a small bird trapped in a snare set by children.

They call this the judgment of the great powers. A fine judgment indeed! For the Kurds it has brought nothing but promises, and promises are easily made. They cost nothing, and they need never be fulfilled.

Let today remain as it is. History does not end with the present, however miserable the present may be. A day will come when the sons of Kurd enter the field with knowledge, skill and wisdom. The young men of the homeland will gather the scattered nation into one, from Krmashan to Urmia, from Sna to Bokan.

Van, Cizre and Basqala will find their proper order once more. Aqrah and Zaxo will be joined again to Botan. Khanaqin, Mandali and the lands of Luristan will, one after another, stand beneath the proud banner of Baban.

Then they will raise an army, disciplined and prepared, to reclaim what belongs to them. Its weapons will be German guns, its ranks filled with men who know what they are fighting for. The lion cubs of the tribes will descend upon their enemies with the fury of Rostam, and the battlefield will tremble beneath their charge.

And when the usurpers have been driven away, the work of rebuilding will begin. Railways will climb into the mountains of Hawraman. Roads will cross the crags, gardens will rise where there was once only barren stone, and broad avenues will run through the valleys. Travellers will come in great numbers, even from England, to see what has been made of this country.

But enough, Ahmad! Must every gathering become a parliament, every cup of wine a speech about the nation? Let the matter rest for a while. Call the cupbearer and tell him to bring the wine. Let him pour it and pass the cups among those gathered here.

And tell that beautiful young cupbearer, so full of grace and charm, that even Joseph of Canaan would have carried his image in his heart. Let him come before us. Let his presence bring some joy into this gathering of free men, and let the songs begin.

Perhaps, for once, the promised future of the Kurdish people will be enough to gladden our hearts. Perhaps the wine, the music and the company will persuade this wounded heart to be silent.

Even if only for a moment.

Even if only long enough to forget its sorrow.

3. 

My eyes are denied the sight of you, and the longing has become a pain without end. They seek no cure, no comfort, save the dust beneath your feet.

When I think of your absent beauty, my tears begin to fall. They run like the Tanjaro and the Sirwan, rivers swollen beyond their banks.

Your hair, your lips, the sweetness of your breath. All are like the Water of Life, concealed in darkness, beyond the reach of those who seek it.

I would gladly surrender my life for those I love, for those whose smile alone can heal the deepest wounds of a lover's heart. There are people who possess such power without knowing it.

Those who serve at the beloved's threshold need fear no one. They could stand before Caesars and Khagans, speaking and laughing without the slightest unease.

But enough of this, poet. Love has had its share of words. Let us turn our eyes elsewhere, towards those who are now bringing ruin upon the homeland.

Day and night, ignorant men, concerned only with their own advantage, obstruct learning, craftsmanship and wisdom. They have little use for any of these things, and less patience for those who practise them.

A disgrace in this world and the next are those who sell their own people for bread and a handful of coins.

Everything has been turned upside down. Ignorance has taken the place of knowledge, and those who know nothing now give orders to those who know.

Cats and foxes imagine themselves lions. Men who only yesterday emerged from obscurity have already acquired the confidence to mock every capable person who sets about his work.

One wonders what injury these people have suffered at the hands of mankind, what grievance they carry within them, that they should spend their lives practising cruelty and imitating the beasts.

Disclaimer: Translations are my own. They are not literal, word-for-word renderings. Instead, I try to balance clear understanding, natural flow, and something of the original listening experience as it might be felt by native speakers. At certain points, the translation departs from literal rendering in favor of interpretive meaning.