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I am from a dreamland.
My great land was diverse yet so grand as
the food and words were never bland.
The hands were rich with bands and rands,
built from working the same ground upon which we stand.
I am from a home that once spanned
prosperity itself; such a lovely
thing was a gift to our health. The sands,
skies, and seas could even hold the Heavens.
The trees used to dance in the breeze with ease.
I am from a dwelling of past envy,
but not of a hating feeling,
in the purest form, this was just only beauty.
But I am from broken societies.

Our hearts were bled dry
as we were taken overseas.
We prayed, begged, cried why
ever so loudly, but it was in vain.
I am from a place where our veins
still course with a saddened passion,
as a lack of love is our new fashion.

With sorrow, I am still from a life of death,
as their malice has never left.
Yet they still set us so carelessly upon the trees;
despite our screams and pleas, we
become the strangest fruits you have ever seen.
We have no identity and we have no names.
yet they still set us so harshly upon the pyre;
the painful extermination of desire
is a freedomless and killing fire.
Even our look for love is seen as theft,
and sadly, I am from where they even have my last breath.
Africa:
It is a lost place
One thinks of sunny
Blue skies
And then thunderstorms

Of running through
Vast, vast, vast
Open grasslands

Of cooking on a fire,
Of looking out
Over the hills of our
Homeland, homeland, home -
Land, land, land
William Marr Feb 10
suffering from homesickness
he returns to his homeland
returning to his homeland
he suffers from homesickness

there’s nothing he can do about it
there’s nothing he can do about it
Flatfielder Jan 23
Grown up between the waters
Bridge to Scandinavia

Looked west over the dikes
The lost lands to the sea

Went East to the cliffs
The Russian winds do blow

Back to the middle
Where the gales
Sweep the dirts soul
Once home
Man Jan 18
woke up
with the sound
of jet engines
thundering, overhead
streaming the sky
brush strokes on high
of red and black

jumped at
straight back
from the bomb
they dropped
square in my living room

walking away
another day
i'll be back
when dust settles
amidst no attacks
on the sandy soil
of my
homeland
How do we define a peace land?
And where is the home, craving to return?
Listen, what did the birds and trees say?

The true pleasures lie beneath the mountain
A single bound will take us there
It is our first homeland where we were born free.

Seagull migrates well,
Pine tree wouldn't move
Look, they reunion in one home garden

They imagine that all their 
Woes, hurts and indignities
Would not exist
in their imagined homeland.

Where we learnt justice at our mother's knee
return is easy, we just have to dare
The true pleasures lie beneath the mountain

In their minds, homeland
is in stasis.
The life they left is lingering
waiting for them to return.
Dedicate to a double festival in China 2020-- Chinese national holiday as well as Mid-Autumn Festival
Willow shade Sep 2020
My homeland!
You have been watching your crippled borders
with wistful looks for gloomy centuries
Soon we will wipe your bloodred tears
after heroic and holy adventures

Yet you are in a deep disappointment
because of the hands lent to the unscrupulous
But never unlearn the destiny ever:
history is always betrayed,
talents are envied,
virtues are misused...
They love politics, not the history,
'Cause they have a historical fear
and it reminds them how they had been abused...
I have found even their "sumptuous" justice
which is carried in their ***** bulky pockets...

My dear,
It is very near,
In Karabakh, the stars will twinkle in a joy
50 million times I will mention your name
and to Jıdır we will be running bare feet.
The echoes will fill the preconceived ears
In Shusha, I will call you,
In Tabriz, we will meet...
Haley Protega Aug 2020
My gaze flickering across this landscape divine -

a whirlwind of sentiments unfolds.

Yet a single word echoes across my mind:

mine, mine, mine.


These hills, these trees, the distant shore,

as sure as the breeze caressing the steeple:

they are part of me, and more -

I am at home, safe, with my people.


I feel it, I know it, the comfort it sings -

whispers of safety, a lullaby to my broken wings:

familiar and gentle, deep in my bones,

the ancestry calling from ancient white stones.


Rosemary, lavender, olives, and fig trees,

they tell me of history, of proud victories;

of battles, of sadness, of stories untold,

the generations with lingering spirits of old.


This is my land, I belong here;

the soft hum of time; a smile and a tear.
30.07.2019.
Visignano, Istria (Croatia)

(Latin, mea terra = my land)
Willow shade Jul 2020
It is me - Azerbaijan!
The hero of the history
On the shore of The Caspian
living manfully and free!

Many times enemies tried
to destruct and divide
Among three aggressors
we defended our pride

And the 'world community',
full of all shames and pity,
Just tell me a rotten lie
that support my integrity!

Let me hear your cry
for Karabakh, everyone!
Respect the real history!
Will we hear anyone?!

For centuries we were wronged
Will you wait for another?!
The son of my father's killer
Is beating my brother!

We faced through the history
Armenian hypocrisy
Put your hands on your conscience,
just show your democracy!

We condemn the historical aggressive policy of Armenia and the insensitive attitude of the world community.

Karabakh is Azerbaijan.
Stop believing provocative and fictitious history.
Research, respect and support the real history!
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