Our walls
white against white
decorated with jasmine flowers
that have witnessed everything.
They've seen the french
speaking the language of love
with weapons of destruction in their hands
carrying our nation's sons
six feet under their footsteps
stepping on honor's history forever.
"Ya worood al yasmeen"
with pearly white petals,
and bright green stems
I've watch you grow over our house
year after year
hanging high and low
gazing at the loss below.
I am now far, distant like a stranger
the homeland has put smiles on our faces
that glow in albums of badly taken pictures
that will haunt my path across oceans.
One day, the heart will ask for home
and I shall listen to it
as it yearns for the sweet scent of jasmines.
My grandmother's house once filled with love
now emptied
her biggest fears coming to life
pictures hanging on the wall
ghosts of love so short-lived
but remind me to tell her
that she is not alone
there are flowers like angels watching from above.