I don’t know why they have brought me here.

This place seems familiar, but what’s this strange machine

Making an active yet grieving sound?

Why are my eyes losing the will to stay open?

 

I  remember when I had first opened my eyes,

I was amazed and scared at the same time

I was crying while those strange people were smiling, looking at me.

Now I don’t see those faces anywhere.

Isn’t it strange that this time I’m smiling, somewhat ,

Yet these people who are dear to me are crying?

 

I still remember running carefree in  wheat fields,

I still remember how my mother used to tie my hair,

I still remember how my eyes first met my husband’s eyes,

I still remember sitting, looking at the moon with him for the first time,

I still remember holding the little hands of my own blood,

I still remember the excitement I had when he took his first step.

 

I still remember when my hair turned white,

And I put Henna to dye them red.

I still remember the last meeting with my husband, his wrinkled old hands holding mine,

The grip might have been weak, but not the warmth,

The warmth of so many years of joy, happiness, and sorrow.

 

I still remember when those eyes full of love

Chose to shut permanently and take a part of me with them.

I still remember how a part of me stayed empty after that,

I still remember how I used to fill that void with my loneliness.

 

I still remember the first night looking at the moon without him,

But now they say that I’ve lost my sane state of mind.

I don’t think so.

I still remember the smell of rain,

When I was scared of it, and my father held my hand,

And we moved slowly in the rain.

There was faith in my steps,  fear in my heart.

 

This is the same place,

But this time I might have to go—

Go somewhere I don’t know.

But yes, maybe it’s the same place from where I came.

What will I take with me? Nothing.

I came with nothing in my tiny little hands,

And now I have to depart with nothing in my old wrinkled hands.

Perhaps when I came, I brought some sort of happiness.

Now I have to leave behind some sort of sorrowness—

Just like Euphrates flowed through so many places,

Carrying a mixture of told, untold, bitter, and sweet memories.

 

 Photography by: Carolina Heza on Unsplash