It was the day the aroma and the taste of our homemade tea changed - forever.
Our mother (bless her) would wake up every morning to make tea for the whole family. No one knew how but somehow, it was that tea that kept everything in order. It was served three times a day and whenever a guest arrives.
A damaged teapot that looked like it had gone through so many battles is still sitting somewhere. If it is misplaced, it could easily trigger a civil war inside our home. It is always there in the background, almost ignored, and yet never failed to provide the tea that held the home spirit together.
when declared war & hostility sub-merges
trapped in the mind set of vengeance
compassion & care, things of the past
live for the moment, with the legacy of hate
when the world seems to give up on us
nothing is more comforting to witness
caring voices, knocking on every doors
the Elsas, The Selams & the Merons
the virtues of common good
carved on a stone & written in blood
their commitment on every occasion
unflinching support to the nation
Just a territory on a map
From Dumera to Ras Kasar
Unknown to the majority; a nation state
Lies idle beside a coastline; frozen in liquid state
Flanked by a landscape on the side; under extreme heat
Crossed by three seasons in a day
Still oblivious; to the outside world
Deeply immersed in its own; on blindfold
The people; like aliens in disguise
In scattered cultures and customs
Displaced within their land; spread across the globe
Identify themselves as Eritreans; under probe
Like dead souls crossing the sea
For an idea to die for eternity
Swallowing the young; the misguided
Crying alongside the living; the wretched
And the menacing threats to skin me alive
That played in my head
In my solitary cell
Were also unreal
My mother’s prayers to the saints are always real
They won’t save me but may wipe her tears
This noose around my neck is real
You…who sit watching
Are you for real?
Blessed I go
to sign a golden record
of a vote that carries a note.
Incredibly the first to me
to the most it may not be.
My vote that has a note came from remote
crossing through deserts and seas
where ideas flow and winds blow
with no compass nor a boat
leaving a trail of wishes and ashes
of the original source and direction.
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