No Home But The Sky

They took the river from our path, the fields from under our feet. Even the word “belong” was burned away with our houses. We carry our names like contraband over borders made of barbed wire and fear. The sea knows our stories— salted with tears, rocked by prayers in the dark. Children learn the alphabet of exile: C for camp, S for silence, H for hope. And hope, though small, still lifts its head like a lantern in a night that will not end— until someone opens the morning. Ro Abdullah...💞💞💞💞💞💞