Let the rain fall over my head
Take my hands and put me in bed

I tried reading, I tried counting sheep
Sing me a song so I fall asleep

My hands are sweating, hug me instead
Play with my hair like my mom always did

Don't leave and stay until the morning
Until the sun rises, and the birds start singing
And the rain stops, stay until the morning
Until the sun rises, and the birds start singing

And don't forget; after you walk out of my bed
To open my windows and kiss me in my forehead

If I ever understood what home meant,
  then she is the person who planted
                                      the definition in my head,
                                          who carved it in my heart,
                                          who waters it
                                              so it grows and never dies
                                          who built a cover for it
                                              so it doesn't fly or fade away,
                                          who made a lock for it
                                              so it won't escape,
                                          who made a key for it
                                              so she can visit it whenever she wants
                                  and who keeps it safe,
                                              and that if she herself
                                                      is not my home.

Home is nothing but a feeling we once had.
We unfortunately lost the memory of it,
but we keep on searching for that feeling
again and again, hoping we will reach it.
It is where the ultimate happiness lies.
We realize it when it is long gone,
and then we go through the same process again.

Where I’m from,*
               unlike what Willie Perdomo says,
                        she might know
                                   where I was from.

Where I’m from,
                we love the breath of whispers.
                         My mom would sing and rhyme
                                   in the ears of my little sisters.

                She would hum and mumble,
                         my dad would whistle,
                                   they would never grumble
                                             until we fall asleep.

Where I’m from,
               we greet with
                          "guten morgen"
                                     to everyone in the breakfast’s table,
               and we smile and say,
                          "takk for maten"
                                     for those who serve the food.

Where I’m from,
            we play with colors for Holi,
                       we fast Ramadan,
                                  we celebrate Christmas.

Where I’m from,
                 we wish you Happy birthday
                               in more than 90 languages,
                                        and these are the advantages;
                              we make you a strawberry cake,
                         we even make you a card,
      but we might throw you in a lake,
or prank you very hard.

Where I’m from,
          we say,
                 “Ni hao ma?”
                           For the person living next door,
when we leave
          we say,
                “hasta luego mi amor.”

Where I’m from,
                we love the breath of whispers,
          she whispers,
                         “habibi, waheshtini.”
          I reply,
                         "I missed you more,"
          and add
                         “Ma armastan sind.”

Where I’m from,
           the smell of your kisses
                      plays with my senses
               so,
                      I could hear your hair,
                   I could taste your beauty,
                I could see your wintry smell
               and I could touch the echo of
                               I love you
              spelled out from your mouth.