Sometimes I'm nostalgic
for frost flowers and a hot water bottle
old winter fantasies

to pictures of the parvis
our house full of aunties
the garden full of apples

a basket full of nuts
always something to celebrate
then, but for now

that is much too far away
now it is empty
behind the pictures

I could take with me
Missing the barren land
the wonder of the gardens

missing the unpacked smells
of the market and the passion
missing the songs of my youth

wiped and overwritten
I lead a new life
in my emigrated hand