This is my little island. Beautiful, warm, full of love and hate who has been friend with blood and pain. It is my land that I carry everywhere with me sometimes as a burden but generally as a wish for a better future.
As Nese Yasin wrote:
“It will be whispered by the flower the weeping cloud in the sky the rapturous waves of the sea and the children who do not want to join the army.
That day, a new love will emerge from the foam of the sea that is indistinct in nationality.”