Colour:
forever reside in my blood
will keep me on holy ground
colour that lived war inside of her.
War:
the goodbye kisses,
tangible on cheek three years on
nothing left to go back too.
Home:
place that birthed her,
took all that she has ever known,
in one breath.
Now:
they ask me,
why does migration sound like home?
Remind:
my survival has no destination.
my residence in my motherland still has an obituary notice
someone forgot to take down.
Grieving:
maybe because my people are still grieving,
I am still grieving.
I have yet to know an accommodation that looks like mine.
Hijab:
they are more comfortable in my silence,
than the story of the tear stains on my hijab.
Hijab:
protected me more than this country ever has.
that’s why I never forget to leave the house without one.
Remind:
when they ask me,
why does migration sound like home?
tell them
Love:
my love language has always been
In Saho,
In Islam,
In Blackness,
In places that have been coming and going
straying and leaving
a love language
you killed off long ago.
