Unsaid

Ride with me to the fall of the sky
For a life without providence.
I will leave here one day.
I am from generations of immigrants.

To Iran, Turkey, and America,
Living in places around the globe.
Again, man-made destructions
Live in my country, forever.
Fixing this mess would take over decades.
Kills me, the good memories
Of my childhood in that country.

Will anger now only take over me?
Will the news only be tragic?
How much more are we willing to sacrifice?
Will families have enough to live?

What if they send me back to Afghanistan?
My cousin says it’s nothing like before.
It was my generation seeing this in real time.

Some rode on a plane and lost a piece of their soul.
Some stayed and bore the souls with no food,
No roof, rights, education, life, job,
Security, water, medication, dignity.
Entitled to chains with wrong rulers,
Cries, wings tied, the guardian angel.
And remains in my country, rain in bullets of rifles.