Nomad

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
Record
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

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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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