The Syrian Daisy
Part of my "You, Humans" Series
In the valley where Aleppo’s shadow danced,
A Syrian daisy, from roots of tradition wound,
Found herself plucked, by winds of war enhanced,
Into a land where familiar tongues were not found.
~~~
Her veil and accent, more than cloth and sound,
Became symbols, whispered behind hushed hands,
In the streets of Istanbul, she was lost, confound,
In the cadence of a language she half-understands.
~~~
Beyond the shards of her past, in this alien expanse,
Her identity; a scornful joke, a teasing jest,
She, a lone daisy in a field of tulip's stance,
Craving solace in this land of the foreign west.
~~~
She wore her shame like the Damascus steel,
Yearning for a world, where borders were not real.
Where the tongues of man, their scorn repeal,
A dream where identity would not conceal.
~~~
A longing in her heart, silent yet profound,
A world where love, not passports, would resound,
Where her name was just a beautiful sound,
Not an echo of a place, to history bound.
~~~
Yet, the Syrian daisy does not wilt, but strives,
In the heart of adversity, she thrives,
For the scent of home within her thrives,
In a world of borders, the spirit survives.
About the Creator
Iris Obscura
Artist and writer. Unless observed up close for extended periods and with the right tools, looks perfectly human.
For more, visit my profile on Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/irisobscura
Comments (1)
Fantastic!!!💖💕