my home is ablaze
with your
ruthless storms
the land remembers
the mountains still echo
our screams

your flag will not survive here.

– m.h.                                                                                                                                               more poetry



i asked my mother,
what is our story

i only ever had pieces
of identity to salvage
sentence fragments-
of too many words to fit on one page
of detachment
and diaspora
displacement due to disruption
disruption due to displacement
of first generation
and second generation
of immigrant
parched lips begging for belonging
for a home to come home to-

dukhtaram, she said.

it is mine to tell you
it is yours to complete.

– m.h.                                                                                                                                               more poetry