DIRT
When someone immigrates
Leaving his people and flee
As much as he can, he will carry
Gold - silver - or money
Pictures, documents, identity
But when an artist
Forced to leave his land
Bringing his bag, pack it with dirt
People express surprise
And think he is insane
In fact they are ignorant
They must understand
A real artist and poet
They can't live
Far away from their land
That is why
I need the handful of soil
From my land, my country
For my heart
For my poem
I want it to be my pillow
To put under my head
When I will die
I want it to be poured
On my face
On my chest
And all over my body
1-7-08 Yassin