Dwindling in the bitter winter tide, recollections of the past commence

Rekindling utterances of my mother tongue on my mother’s tongue

She whispers to me, in sweet tempered tones, “Al-nisyan shekil min ashkal ilhuria ya binti”

“Forgetting is a form of freedom my daughter”

I cannot consign to oblivion

White noise accompanies the murkiness in my head

I hear you mother, but I fail to comprehend

How it is possible to obliterate the memories of that life,

the casualties of a time that do not fail to tear my heart apart,

when all I can anticipate is the depth of this perpetual strife?

Not any more do I want to suffer in the realms of an oppressive silence
Mother, I come from those who do not fathom any form of liberty
I am of the caged birds who are only familiar with the construction of violent misery
But I no longer desire to be the caged bird who weeps in melancholy

Mama, I pray and plead that you break these pinfolds and pounds that smother me
These vocal cords have grown jaded in the resonance of monotonous melodies of mourning
Reveal the truth in which these crossbars unshackle themselves and release me

I urge you to disclose the secret of freedom
Mama, remind me of the story where the deep waters of the sea
cleanse me of these memories
and then release me
where I can ride the waves…

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