Madam Miss, welcome to my beloved land

Thank you for buying all of my humble fare

But that is about the most that I could spare

What is left, not enough to hold in my hand.

What is that you are asking, I could not hear?

My home? Yes, I would much like you to see

I will be honoured, it’s next to the old maqui

That is no longer there, and none other near.

But I know my way, soon we shall be there

Mind the stones, sister. This road? Yes, this

Led to Al Mosari, and that’s my house, Miss

Can’t you see it? Why do you ask, ‘Where’?

We have reached, for that is my oaken door

Come in, just step over it and the threshold

I miss my lamp, my chairs of cane not so old

See, my sofa sturdy oaken yet stands on floor

Will you sit? But no. The sofa has those stains

Obstinate they, and will not go, or even lighten

Nor my lamp shattered to shards, e’er brighten

The shadows of my cats, those window panes.

Oh, my cats! So small in my arms, died in fear

Then Wasim, so warm and spread at cosy fire,

Lost all mind, in horror of light and sound dire

Ran to a street, knocked into flesh and smear.

My bedroom, this wide bed no longer shared

Two legs lost, uneven on bricks, sloped above

His side so cold clean, unwrinkled in hot love

That had created my two caressed and cared.

He at sea for early catch, riding a gentle wave

Dabur burned, sucked beneath smoking boat

They found him eaten all over, yet still afloat,

What left gave me, he laid kafan clad in grave.

They soon followed who daily lit my two eyes

Six and eight, they slept tucked in warm glow

Now under flamed sky, still asleep but below

Roofless room, where nothing no longer dies.

That’s my taboon, a few twigs to light my fire

Will that thatch hold up now the season rainy

Some falafel left. Please have, and tea maybe

My cups rescued, take one, I no longer require

Nothing more to see, just some grass behind

Tufts black, no shoots, will never grow again

Earth below is widowed, has become barren

Greenness has fled, abandoned all their kind

Madam Miss, I am honoured by your grace

The azan sounds, it signals the time to pray

No pictures, Behen, what can they ever say

Remember my face, do not forget this place.

But promise me, never again to ask ‘Where?’

Inshallah, you will not forget. You were there.