My Fairy Tale

I always wanted to live a fairy tale,

To have my heart stolen by a charming prince,

Who defeats evil for my love.

Sitting in a cafe, holding my book,

My eyes wondered outside the window,

Watching people minding their business,

Suddenly he shows up, tall and handsome,

So charmingly European....

Enchanted by his voice,

Asking "is this seat taken?"

(No one can fill it better, I thought)

I smiled, feeling the heat in my face,

He sat before me: my story has just begun!

Our eyes would meet, blue meeting black,

We would be spell bound,

He would start a conversation, about the weather maybe,

In a minute we'd become "match made in heaven",

We would exchange numbers, and he would call me,

We would live the fairy tale…

But every tale has an evil witch,

To spell-bound the lovers,

Setting them apart far away from each other...

(I can see it in your eyes, your blue avoiding my black,

I can see where you are looking),

My scarf sends you away,

Further beyond the oceans between our countries,

I will always be foreign to you,)

I blinked, and there he was,

turning toward the equally blue eyes,

They both make a perfect couple!

My story ends as it began...

Just a fairy tale…

Dancing in the Rain

I always wanted to dance in the rain,

But in Iraq, it was rare, and definitely not mine

to enjoy or dance to its music.

In London, it is plenty,

For everyone to be drawn in its melody…

Today, I can dance in the rain.

I want to have my scarf soaked wet with falling drops

To embrace heaven's tears of joy!

I want to dance in the rain...

but my ankles are chained.

My mother gave me her golden anklets.

She had them from her mother who had them from hers.

It ran from one female to another.

They did not dance in the rain...

They didn't have their scarves soaked wet.

They didn't embrace heaven's joy!

I want to stretch my arms wide,

to embrace all the rain.

I want to feel the chill.

To have my body would shiver with every drop,

Passing through layers of fabric thick.

But they were too heavy.

They kept me too warm...

But there is my face!

Open to the sweet drool

Fully exposed!

Every drop kissed my revealed skin.

My eyes wide open to heaven and her tears;

No, these are not tears,

They are blessings of freedom,

My scarf has just embraced them all.

I am dancing in the rain…

Nadia F. Mohammed   

Homeless

I see them every day. They don't take much space,

A body folded small into a corner:

A bundle of faceless cloths, 

Hiding from London's cold,

Or the coldness of passers-by.

They beg with an old paper cup,

For some change to our humanity. 

(Sometimes, I just wish to sit next to them, 

Participate in the ritual of bundling myself. 

I may seem odd to them: no rugged cloths to dress, 

Not really jobless to beg for daily living, 

But still, I am as homeless as they can be!) 

Like the cold bundles on street corners, 

I came from far away, 

I left the home where I grew, 

I am as homeless as they can be.

Like them, I have no identity to show, 

My country today is nameless to me. 

Every day, I pass them by with envy, 

Wishing to crawl small, 

to hide in a corner, I call my own.