I walked all day and all night
To arrive in a foreign land
Only to cry at the closed doors of hope
I lay in the bed of the poor
Most people dream of a future
But my dreams are mostly memories
Surrounded by a sea of strangers
I dream of familiar faces I used to know
My barber Hassan
He didn't know the meaning of small talk
When I sat in his chair
Along with cutting my hair
He would sweep away the gripes of daily grind
My neighbour
Auntie Faatimah
Visits me often during my sleep
She's always sat at our dining table
In her flamboyant dress
Her scent
Floral and sweet
Would surround the air like an everlasting hug long after she'd squeezed me in her arms
"Ali, What do you think of Halwah?"
Mother and her share a knowing glance
And that's where it always ends
What does it matter what I think anymore?
I think of her
And that's all that we'll ever be
A thought
Not even destined to be buried beneath the same dirt