Cyprus. My love my home
a small Mediterranean island, I can barely see you on the map alone.
You’ve been through so much, yet you are still standing
divided and torn apart, the truth is my heart is breaking.
So here’s a little story, that is not entirely known
about this itsy-bitsy island where heroes were truly born.
Saturday, 20 July 1974. The Turks march in shortly before dawn
heavily armed, invading Kyrenia with the intention to torture and torn.
Staged as Operation Attila to “protect” the Turkish Cypriots from Junta’s coup d’etat
they manage to capture a small percentage of our island before a ceasefire is passed.
The nightmare is not over, they still have plans to destroy
what was once a beautiful island entirely filled with joy.
Glafcos Clerides and Turk Rauf Denktas meet to discuss the island’s situation
but the Turks were lurking behind the trees ready to uncover their true intention.
It was only twenty six days after the first invasion when Attila strikes again
seizing what was never theirs; raping, torturing and murdering men children and women.
My mother was only ten when she and her family were forced to flee from home
leaving all belongings behind and finding refuge under a cave in which they were not alone.
They stayed there day and night, whilst the bombs and guns were tirelessly firing
they had no choice even if for days under that cave people were pissing and defecating.
It was time to go, it was time to flee, my mommy and her family were finally safe.
But they were part of the lucky ones who managed to escape.
Others not so much as 3000 were declared dead and 1400 missing till this date.
Turkey’s plan succeeded, they got what they wanted yet their act remained poisonous
as they teared my island apart and declared it “The Turkish Federated State of Cyprus”.
A buffer zone exists until today known as the “Green Line”
separating the North from the South, acting like everything is just fine.
Kerynia, Apostolos Andreas, Rizokarpaso, Ammochostos
a few of the places captured and turned into true chaos.
Once so beautiful that tourists were spellbound by their beauty and surroundings
but now ghost towns exist, a consequence of the Devil’s makings.
My mother showed her passport to visit her old home
and shocked by the surroundings she realised that NOTHING had remained the same.
Shaking and feeling overwhelmed, I could see the tears going down her face
and like all the refugees felt and always will, Cyprus will always be a Greek-Cypriot island
and you invaders remain a de facto state.
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