No one speaks
your name anymore, Afrin.
where are you,
the brightest star
of my darkest night?
Long after the streets have quietened
and the protesters have gone home
and the signs have long been trampled under feet,
your name is but a smear now.
Are your sacred olive groves well?
or do they still weep
from the bitter sorrow of abandonment?
and are your infamous pomegranate trees
drying up in protest
of this imposed exile?
as your dispossessed
are scattered across the four winds…
I planned to visit you
when the spring of peace
But here I am
as much in exile as you.
Carrying you with me
in my equally broken,
-Afrin, Dr. Hawzhin Azeez, 24-06-2018