First one…

i am hushed by the sea

enthralled by its beauty, imprisoned by its passion

as the fatigue of swimming

withers my voice away…

yet i am not alone

there are many of us

immigrants, refugees, migrants

and despite how voiceless we become

we must never give up

on singing our songs

 

“singers of the sea”

 

Where I come from…

i come from the ground between my mother’s legs

but now i waver like ocean

like a body…

of water

unable to ground a flag

soulfully and homelessly enslaved to the space between

though i am tired

i continue to bathe with one leg on each

hips flowing left and right

eyes opening and closing

to the blue water that colors me

 

“back and forth dancing”

 

She thought it was cotton…

cotton is falling from the sky!

my mother recalls crying

 

i look at her with astonishment

how did my mother not know of snow?

how did she believe clouds dropped cotton

like they drop rain?

 

but technically, it makes sense

my mother spent her life in Verdun of Beirut

far from the mountains of Lebanon

humid weather was her only truth

 

and with that realization

comes a change in my own perspective

such a drastic change, that this coming winter

i too shall see cotton

 

“i too shall see cotton”

 

Where my father worked…

my father says he worked in a Greek restaurant

at 1 University Place, making salads at the salad bar

he says he loved his job, for his boss Peter treated him well

and promoted him to manager after two months of work

till this day my father says

he misses those days

 

“my father says”

 

And my mother…

my mother made bracelets and necklaces at Herald Square

her boss was named Miss Molly

she says Miss Molly was a great friend

who took her out to eat, night after night

and refused to let her pay

when i ask my mother what she would eat

she says seafood

because seafood is always halal

 

“my mother says”

 

Last one, for humanity…

the cries of the mother

whose child’s life was taken

can’t be heard

through the loud silence of ignorance

and the blood of the murdered

that blankets the ground

can’t be seen

through the blindness of compassion

 

the light that hides in the shadows

longs for a rainbow that will never come

for this storm is eternal

slowly destroying benevolence

in its path amongst humanity

so let us have a prayer

for the stricken souls

 

“for the stricken souls”