GHAZAL TO MY NEVER HOME
by Samira Gharavi-Nouri
Bombs like shooting stars skyhigh laughing
over the heads of locals wry laughing.
The closest I‘ve gotten to one was a video
my father took, soaring by laughing.
What to believe in the chaos of a lit-up nation
when they cry and wail and try laughing.
My grandmother says “they breathe for now
but it gets worse. Hopefully they don‘t die laughing.”
I want to comfort her and be there for them
but I don‘t speak their tongue, only sigh laughing.
Mechanically, I say “How are you?”, “Love you”, “Thank you”,
but no more can leave my lips so I’m shy laughing.
My blood pumps partly like theirs but still a fraud,
because power’s bleeding them dry, laughing.
How am I like them when I don‘t know their plight?
Impossible reunion, so I pray and pry, laughing.
Nouri to stand out from the rest,
crash alike while waving bye laughing.