Kurdish literature Written or oral writings, poems, and stories are said to be written in Kurdish dialects such as Kalhari-Pahlai Sorani, Leki, Kermanji, Zazaki, and Horami-Gorani. Modern Kurdish written literature in the Gurani dialect is more than a thousand years old and in the Kermanji and Surani dialects several hundred years old, and the age of some compositions, such as the early books of the end, is estimated to be up to 1,200 years, however, the Kurds also have a vast oral literature. Among the greats of classical Kurdish written literature, we can mention Jaziri, Ahmad Khani, Nali, Maulvi Kurd, Khan Mansour and Shake, Gholamreza Arkwazi and Mastoreh Ardalan. In the contemporary era, Kurdish literature has grown significantly and many outstanding works have been produced in modern formats such as novels, new poems, short stories, plays, etc. in different Kurdish dialects such as Surani, Kermanji, Horami, Kalhari and Leki. Kermanji literature The books of a Kurdish book exhibition in Diyarbakir in 2012. An image of a manuscript of the Kurdish Shahnameh. Yazidi scriptures such as Mushaf Rash are among the oldest Kermanji writings, which were written around the twelfth century with the Yazidi script. The rise and growth of Kermanji literature can be seen at the same time as Molla Jaziri and Ali Hariri. Jaziri's ghazals are one of the most famous examples of Kermanji's ghazals. Kurdish Sad Romance Spring I remember him every time Just like when I was young to soothe my wounds I go to the fountain alone I leave the pain of my heart in the hands of its small waves I read this poem to him with recitation or singing O Cheshme: You are the rendezvous of angels You are the heavenly mirror You are the blood of the hard and high mountains O Cheshme: I wish you knew the things that I know Because his footprints are left behind you O spring: You witnessed the blossoming of heavenly love My killer has his hands in his My blood poured into the water of the spring With the laughter of love I was dying and I didn't understand Oh, spring, spring Sleep My name is Khab from the land of enchantment My father is the peak and my mother is the fog. I was born in the year of the dead month, the month of the week and the day of the dead hour After a night of pregnancy to the wind After a night in Kozhpasht and the mountains in the shower In the morning suffering and wounded Than Shafiqi Taro Teng I fell to the ground like a bloody arrow I was flabbergasted and ligh