#nomads
They come from the West,
Covered in ashes,
Suit cases of soot.
They call them Californians,
Nomads from the west coast.
They come from burning cities,
On bare foot.
They've got stone faces,
Hardened gazes.
I can't imagine how it must be,
To have your home,
Burned from gables,
To ground.
God bless the Californians,
Lot of lost souls from the West Coast.
Jan 13, 2025
Jan 13, 2025 at 12:26 PM UTC
We're riding bikes on this trip known as life
In midnight hours
Facing wind with a hefty amount of risk mixed with intoxication adorning my head with an imaginary crown in place of where nonexistent helmet should be
Drunk not on alcohol
Instead from the countless tears formed by self-hatred
Soul-boiling
Hot liquid bubbling over edges of my eyelids
I hope we find our way
We travel without light guiding our direction
Two insignificant nomads blindly navigating this vast existential void
Attempting to reach sort of adequate destination before time reaches us
Held together by fingers and an invisible magnetism more powerful than the unknown forces pulling and prodding around us at all angles
And led forward by our hearts
Dec 16, 2022
Dec 16, 2022 at 11:43 PM UTC
Kurds are Birds
by Kajal Ahmad, a Kurdish poet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Per the latest scientific classification, Kurds
now belong to a species of bird!
This is why,
traveling across the torn, fraying pages of history,
they are nomads recognized by their caravans.
Yes, Kurds are birds! And,
even worse, when
there’s nowhere left to nest, no refuge for their pain,
they turn to the illusion of traveling again
between the warm and arctic sectors of their homeland.
So I don’t think it strange Kurds can fly but not land.
They wander from region to region
never realizing their dreams
of settling,
of forming a colony, of nesting.
No, they never settle down long enough
to visit Rumi and inquire about his health,
or to bow down deeply in the gust-
stirred dust,
like Nali.
And because Kajal mentioned Rumi, here are my translations of Rumi:
Raise your words, not their volume.
Rain grows flowers, not thunder.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Birdsong
by Rumi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Birdsong relieves
my deepest griefs:
now I'm just as ecstatic as they,
but with nothing to say!
Please universe,
rehearse
your poetry
through me!
Keywords/Tags: Kajal Ahmad, Kurdish, translation, Kurds, birds, nomads, caravans, refuge, homeland, fly, land, flying, landing, colony, nest, nesting, Rumi, Nali
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 3:24 AM UTC
we are nomads
finding love in things that change
finding homes in our adventures
and finding ourselves in the in-betweens
-k.j.c
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 12:41 AM UTC
”Home is where the heart is”
Yes, but home is not confined to these four walls
in which we reside.
Home,
is more than just a house
made by
human
hands.
It is in the heart,
that pumps the very blood that runs thicker
than water.
But water is needed for blood to keep running
So,
what. is. home?
Home,
is who we are
is where we belong
Home,
is how we have become,
how we have come
a long way from,
and where we return to.
Like nomads,
it is where we are found.
Home,
is where we are...
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 6:39 AM UTC
*Rain pattered on all roofs
And Cattle clattered their hoofs
The locals gathered in groups
Cocking guns ready to shoot
Thinking that probably the brutes
Had once again returned to loot*
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
We were made to roam every corner of this earth, to become nomads whose homes are inside each other.
Our hearts are too curious to be kept in this cage made of bones.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
*We share our deficiencies:
A haven of sorrow and fury*
Friendly - they say hello
In mischief and spite.
Warm or cool under your feet
They swerve near nonchalant districts
And foamy lips
Destructive - they leave without saying goodbye
A routine they developed
Over the series of washed up regrets
And maroon sediments
Attached - they stick like superglue
To the pang they forgot to tell you about
They leave and take a part with them
And inevitably imprint themselves onto you
*We share our deficiencies:
A haven of sorrow and fury*
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC