Grandmother
I cry you Urmi
I cry you Salmas ...
I cherish your soil
a soil soaked with the blood of the forty thousand Assyrians ...
mothers , fathers , sons and daughters
grandparents and infants ...
I want to feel the silence of the plains
in Al-Jezira and Simele
deep down in my veins...
I want to fly to Kochanis and Hikkari
smell the vinyards and the fields ...
hum on the tunes of a shabiba
a fare well song
to a land that was mine and yours...
touch the souls of those Angels of Ashur
who perished just for being Assyrians
laying underneath those rocks unrestful...
I want to hover over those cemeteries and mass graves
just one last time ...
before I face my grandmother
and tell her about that tree which grew beside her forgotton grave
on the side of that dirt road
across from the Khabour River
where she departed this world...
I lay down in my bed every night
look at the shadows of darkness on the wall
and imagine her young face
which I never met...
I cry you dearest...
and I wish if I can just for once
hide myself in your arms
and feel the warmth of the Grandmother I never had....
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