untitled.

mountains peak where i meet you every morning.
cracks of light pour in to heal the cold in our hearts.
breathe in salvation and breathe out the burdens. i’m
glad you live on the other side sometimes. if you saw
what we look like now, you wouldn’t recognize what
you left behind.

reminders. the sheer vastness. the defining silence.
the untouched land remind us that this is a dream
within a dream. nothing more than a fiction to awake
from. that our restlessness, it tells us something.
that we belong to something bigger. that we belong to
someone greater.

that when we lie awake at 4 am, even 4 am is a lie.
and up there, where darkness begins. is the only truth.

if we could only remember.

m.h.

 

immigrant.

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