The womb let go of me
In a volcanic eruptions
Making me arrive to
A touch of mercy,
Tears of sigh,
Scar of Stitches, and forty
Days cycle of pain

The rituals thereafter
A kiss of dates and
The call of prayer
By a soul foreign to me
A face I search for
In the courage of men,
In the sixth sense and
In the interpreted dreams

I am here
I am a stranger
In a land once
Invaded my home
Even here
I hear the call of prayer
In the familiar souls,
In the veils of beauty
And the minaret
That wave freedom
To the sky ceiling

You see
I am not a number
On an identity card
I am a citizen
In the Big Society
So while you
My history
And wonder which box
In the form fits me
I rise above your
Labels and your prejudice
For freedom has befallen me
From my mothers’ womb


About Samra

Poet and fundraiser for humanitarian causes. Lives in London
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Nomad

  1. yepirategunn says:

    I really enjoy the cultural language/references. I love the way the poem unfolds, demands attention, the way you ‘put your hand down on the table’ to state your rights. I have some difficulty with the 2nd line, early in the poem. The idea is wonderful, the term/expression a bit general. Maybe the word ‘way’ seems shallow. I know it needs to fit in.
    Love the topic.

  2. Samra says:

    Thank you so much for your feedback which I will take into account. Appreciate your time

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