For My Ukthi

Nineteen. Forty. Seven

There must have been lightning,
Or a flash of light at least,
Across the skies,
The day that I met you, my sister.

There were unknown threads,
Lines of silver yarn,
That already tied us together.
There was a bridge constructed,
Between my Derby,
And your Abassan al Kabir,
Joining our hearts,
In something that felt like justice,
In the middle of this occupation.

We lined warm embraces,
With the exchange of stories,
Of lives,
Of all the things that tore us apart,
And the ones that built us back up.
There were secrets from the depths of us,
There was hope – she was smiling at us both,
And in its centre you stood there,
Smiling in the face of defeat.

You taught me Arabic – the Gazan type,
So I speak to your Ummi now,
And I told you about my motherland,
You Palestinians are the only…

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Author: gogwit

One foot in Sanity, the other in the adjoining parish, usually in the vicinity of the boundary between the two but sometimes straying into the main square of either and very occasionally taking occupation of the Town Hall...

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