I love my country of birth.
It used to be sweet
like Ward Al-Sham
adorned with crushed pistachios,
rose petal jam, and drizzled with orange blossom syrup.
I miss the smell of its dirt.
Bloody rebels and their ideals
ruined my childhood.
I shouldn’t have seen what I did.
Me and the others refused their oppression
and barbaric ways.
You can’t convert people who know
the true meaning of their religion.
After a near-death boat ride.
Tears, terror and hunger.
It’s not Syria
But I have new friends.
I’m learning a new language.
My family and I, now safe.
Cover image by unknown artist, Public domain via Wikimedia Commons