Ache

My left arm's from Syria
And my right, Lebanon
And once these fists were beautiful
This spine was from Afghanistan
And every morning I shower in the Nile
Its water streams down along my concave
And the bridge of my nose
Was like the contours of the Persian mountains
And these hips braved through Beirut
And once these collarbones held salt deposits
From constant submergence in the Red Sea
And if we met, you will see not my face
For I'll have it masked with kefiyyeh
An old habit from treading on lands
Where sandstorms reminds you of your resting place
For this soul's a frequent visitor of Palestine;
Its ears recognizes the dialect,
The nuances in speech.
Its nose recognizes cardamom's strong fragrance,
And the smell of bread during a Summer's morning.
And this soul often returns back into my chest with nostalgia,
And these ribs cages a dove full of memories,
Full of hope.
But today,
These body parts are burnt,
Broken,
Wounded,
And this soul complains that it couldn't recognize Palestine
And all I could carry is an ache,
Trapped in my chest, and my mind.