NO LAND, NO HOME

(With acknowledgement to Mahmoud Darwish)

Those who have no land, no home,
washed in like debris on a beach, imagine

not a painted ceiling, just a sky promising
nothing, not even the company of clouds.

Those who have no home, no land
expect no welcoming ceremony, seek refuge

in exchange for life – dreams sealed in hearts,
names of loved ones dissolving under the tongue.

Those who have no land, no home
have no hope that glimmers, no heaven

that illuminates – only the freedom
to die from longing and exile.

Those who have no home, no land
tossed between unknowns, transformed

into stone, continue to believe in miracles,
trust in suffering to take them home.

Those who have no land, no home
know what it means to be effaced –

shorn of a self, turned into a shadow, tired
of the fight, fearful of forgetting the way.

Only the wind listens to our secrets,
chatters at the edge of shivering coasts.

How can we thank the wind for revealing
the truth to the trees, sky and seas –

a home, a home, a life for a home –
crying out for those who have no home?