The other day, I shared a saying on Instagram:
Bi peyv peyv û bi hevok hevok, ziman çê dibe. (Kurmancî)
(Word by word, sentence by sentence, a language is formed.)
Even after posting it, this short phrase kept echoing in my mind. My eye lingered on the word peyv. The moment I noticed pey hidden inside it, another door swung open.
Peyv means word. Pey means trace, following, tracking. The bond between these two words led me to a deeply familiar feeling: walking in the footsteps of our forefathers.
When we think of our ancestors, two great inheritances come to mind: their words and their paths. But these are not separate things. Their words were the traces they left behind. Every word of theirs mapped out a path to be walked.
Just think — a Kurdish elder once said: “Dar bi dar, daristan çê dibe.” (Tree by tree, a forest is formed.) It whispers not of a single sapling’s strength, but of the power of those who grow together.
A Turkic ancestor said: “Damlaya damlaya göl olur.” (Drop by drop, a lake is formed.) If you don’t abandon the trail of that tiny drop, it reminds you that the place you’ll reach is a lake. Follow the trace of patience, it says.
A voice rises from the Arab world: “رحلة الألف ميل تبدأ بخطوة واحدة” (Rihletu’l-elfi meyl tebde’u bi-hatvetin vâhide.) Even a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Don’t freeze at the size of the road — take the first step, leave a trace, it says.
A sage from China whispers: “千里之行，始于足下” (Qiān lǐ zhī xíng, shǐ yú zú xià.) A journey of thousands of miles starts from the point beneath your feet. The greatest journey is hidden in the trace of the smallest step.
And a French ancestor says: “Petit à petit, l’oiseau fait son nid.” (Little by little, the bird builds its nest.) Every twig a trace, every carried branch a new path. A nest, you might say, is a sentence woven word by word through patience.
Thanks.
