Poem: Echoes of the Unrooted
April 2, 2025
Photo of girl by Shima Abedinzade from Pixabay. Trees by musicFactory lehmannsound at Pexels
Dera Eneremadu’s story of strength, displacement, loss and survival
In the shadow of ruins, our roots still grow,
Through the winds of despair, our spirits glow.
From the ashes of loss, we weave our song,
In the hearts of the oppressed, love stays strong.
In the midst of pain, our hope takes flight,
We shatter their rusted chains in the dead of the night.
O land of olive and ancient stone, we shall remain,
For even in exile, you flow through our veins.
The faint scent of za’atar floats in the air,
A taste of home, though we’re not there.
Children trace patterns in the dust,
A tatreez of longing, so their culture is not lost.
Lines are drawn, erased, then drawn anew,
By careless hands, where ink bleeds through.
And the Jordan weeps in crimson tide,
Bearing the scars of those who died.
And as their rifles rip through our flesh,
The keffiyeh still wraps our wounds: a mother’s warm caress.
The wind carries our cries, tangled in black and white threads,
To faraway lands where children are fed.
The ‘-ists’ they shout in the media breed dread,
Yet we weave our strength through the tears we have shed.
Patterns of longing, sewn through strife,
A legacy embroidered into the fabric of life.
