and guide you through the cracked skylight.

Fly together as two white doves

into the freedom of the supernal sky.

I want to nurse you back to health

while I nest in your arms

my dear birth mother.

For decades,

they polluted and marred you—

but you are wise, wondrous, and strong.

And your forest lungs will regrow and regenerate.

I hold on to your glistening garment—

one potent drop

satisfying my memories for decades.

Since our vast separation,

I still hear your festive kamancheh street music.

I still whiff the fire-roasted salty corn

and effervescent, fresh-cut cucumbers.

I still smell your vast, fragrant flower gardens

pigmenting with explosive, brilliant colors.

I still hear the honks of cars speaking Morse code.

I still hear the serenades of the call to prayer.

I still taste the rich, rose flower and saffron ice cream.

I still marvel at the insights of your patterned geometric architecture.

I am still in an embodied dance

swirling under your intricately patterned

Persian-rugged rooftop.

Lamenting, crying, pleading, and praying—

I await the day you will be free.

We who came from your stardust

have endured half a lifetime of patience

steadfast to our multigenerational, eternal hope.

And when that day breaks open

we will all suddenly cry a sea of fresh-water tears

that will purify our sorrows

feeding your drought-thirst soil

into an oasis

you are destined to be.