Where I’m from,*
unlike what Willie Perdomo says,
she might know
where I was from.
Where I’m from,
we love the breath of whispers.
My mom would sing and rhyme
in the ears of my little sisters.
She would hum and mumble,
my dad would whistle,
they would never grumble
until we fall asleep.
Where I’m from,
we greet with
"guten morgen"
to everyone in the breakfast’s table,
and we smile and say,
"takk for maten"
for those who serve the food.
Where I’m from,
we play with colors for Holi,
we fast Ramadan,
we celebrate Christmas.
Where I’m from,
we wish you Happy birthday
in more than 90 languages,
and these are the advantages;
we make you a strawberry cake,
we even make you a card,
but we might throw you in a lake,
or prank you very hard.
Where I’m from,
we say,
“Ni hao ma?”
For the person living next door,
when we leave
we say,
“hasta luego mi amor.”
Where I’m from,
we love the breath of whispers,
she whispers,
“habibi, waheshtini.”
I reply,
"I missed you more,"
and add
“Ma armastan sind.”
Where I’m from,
the smell of your kisses
plays with my senses
so,
I could hear your hair,
I could taste your beauty,
I could see your wintry smell
and I could touch the echo of
I love you
spelled out from your mouth.
