I speak to you, my child,
so you may let me go,
let me rise to the heavens,
where the angels await me.

I speak to you, my child,
so you know that I am at peace,
so you allow me to continue my journey,
where I am meant to be.

I speak to you, my child,
so you don’t hold me back,
so you let me run among the clouds,
where my path has only just begun.

I speak to you, my child,
so you set me free,
so you let me let go,
where my soul will finally be free.

Father, I have understood that letting you go
is to set myself free.

Father, here I light these five candles,
one to thank you for every gift,
one to thank you for every moment we shared,
one to honor all your sacrifices for me,
one for every inspiration and affirmation,
one to cherish every touch and every kiss.

Five candles that hold all the love you gave me.
Was it enough or not?
It was all we knew how to give.

I let you go.
Rest in peace.
I love you, Father.

You do not belong to this soil,
not the way they did—
feet sinking into peat,
lungs lined with salt and prayer,
bodies turning to moss before memory.

But still, you stand here,
four generations late,
hands in your Primark pockets,
mouthing names you were never meant to carry,
even as they sit inside you,
your first name stamped with their last,
a borrowed relic you never earned.

Your brother gripped the wheel like a lifeline,
right-side driving out of Dublin,
left shoulder braced against muscle memory,
like he expected the road to turn on him.
Mom rode shotgun,
printed-out censuses fanned across her lap,
highlighted, annotated, dog-eared—
a roadmap made of the dead.

You sat in the backseat,
cheek against the window,
watching Ireland unfold in slow exhales—
stone walls dividing nothing from nothing,
a horizon stitched with ruins,
the color of a postcard left too long in the sun.

Mom recited their names like prayer beads,
rolling them through her fingers,
waiting for recognition
that did not come.

And then you were there—
the grass, damp and grasping,
twined around your ankles,
softened under your weight,
pulling you down like something remembered.

The graveyard was older than the road that brought you there.
Headstones leaned like tired men,
softened by wind, by rain,
by the weight of a hundred years unspoken.
Their names smoothed into murmurs,
the dates washed into dashes.

And at every grave,
a small stone sign,
half-buried in moss,
letters chipped but certain:
KNEEL AND PRAY.
Not a suggestion. A sentence.

You did not kneel.
You touched the name instead,
ran your fingers over the grooves,
over the letters that built you
without ever knowing you would come.

A crow clicked its beak from the low wall,
watching the three of you like it had seen this before,
like it knew how this ended.

You whispered something you could not name.
The wind took it from your mouth,
tucked it into the tall grass,
laid it at their feet.

And then you left,
but the wet earth held its claim,
clinging to your soles,
like it knew you’d be back.

Autumn Moon rises
Full-faced and bright
Filling the sky
White with hues of orange and red
First of the lunar year

Moonlight dancing
Over the mountains
Beaming through the valley
Reflections on the river
Mountains with the moon above

Amber lights of lanterns
The flicker of candles within
Villagers crowd the banks
Honor, remembrance,
Peace, forgiveness

Riddles light the village streets
Celebrations are in the air
Notes and prayers adorn the water
Prayers for ancestors and luck abound
Tiny lanterns start to glow

The current is gentle
Pulling the gifts from the shore
Drifting downstream
Guided and protected
By the spirit below

Roar of the water
Mist obscures
River falls away
Crashing below
Spirit revealed

Over the edge
Tiny vessels washed away
Updraft catches
Lanterns take flight
Spirit encircles

Spirit soars upwards
Heaven's journey
Serpentine flight
Celestial Guardian
Heaven's palace

Spirit returns
Duty fulfilled
River domain
Benevolent and pure
Slumber awaits as the rain begins to fall

High Moon ascends,
Full and resplendent,
Sky ablaze,
Orange, red, a haze,
Year anew.

Moonbeams dance,
Over the mountains,
Valley aglow,
River reflects low,
Moonlit scene.

Lanterns alight,
Candles flicker bright,
Villagers throng,
Honoring the long,
Yearned-for peace.

Riddles abound,
Joyful sounds resound,
Notes on the stream,
Ancestors' dream,
Lanterns gleam.

Currents so mild,
Gifts drift wild,
Spirits guide,
Down the tide,
Protected all.

Water roars loud,
Mist shrouds the crowd,
River descends,
Spirit extends,
Power revealed.

Over the fall,
Lanterns enthrall,
Updraft takes hold,
Celestial fold,
Spirit ascends.

Soaring high,
Heavenward journey,
Serpentine flight,
Guardian of light,
Palace awaits.

Duty complete,
Spirit retreats,
River's domain,
Pure and serene,
Sleep descends, rain.

I am multi coloured
As in multiethnic
For I am arab,
Chechen, Roma,
And central Asian
Himalayan and Uighur
But that has been me since
I always all over the ****
      M
                       A
  P
That is my DNA
Hence I am multicoloured

When I look up at my ancestors and the struggles of my family tree
I realised I was made from bleeding hands and shattered hope
Pouring their lives from cup to cup, generation to generation
All the things they couldn’t be
I was made by them but also for them
Passing down onto me their tears and  hardships, and all their untold stories
You see, they chose me
To uphold their legacy, unravel their truth
Breath the air and smell the soil of places they could never see
I was made to be everything they weren’t allowed to dream
My path will sooth their pain
I am meant to live loud and carry their sacrifices as my war cry

O’ country of my blood,
country of my ancestors
I long for you
Your luscious green landscapes
and your highest mountains
Your beautiful waterfalls
and your fountains
The sound of the neighborhood kids
laughing in the streets,
I long for you

A time where we ran outdoors so excited
we forgot to put our shoes on,
sitting on the front porch buying watermelon from the fruit-cart man,
then sharing it with our friends,
I long for you

Wherever I go I belong to you, one day shall my ashes be scattered and soil with you.

I have ships in my bones they carry me
somewhere else like a misunderstanding cause
the I of the world carries the evening
over the mountains on misterious ways
a nasty habit the imagination
sometimes I wonder if the ancestors are stalking these walls
to see if we can be happy
against the sacrifice of song
cause we die without thinking about it
a little bit every day from this stride
to put everything in its place
inside

silence was improvising in my eyes
in this tender fog between one moment
and this moment
and I could see the old love approaching
to invade me
to intoxicate me
with its hypnotic violence
this love like a fossilized wood in their gaze
came to visit me
again
with so many faces
so many whispers
it was as if angels had descended
on the barren land and
with their unthought hands
were tenderly carressing
the old bones unsung
what else could have I done
than
open my eyes and dream
the palimpsest of forgotten dreams
forged in the greatest intensity
of all the fleeting moments
in which
they blinked

(I need to shelter my heart from
the silence of decaying leaves
from the violence of life destroying
itself)