We don´t drink tea under the mango tree anymore, Deeqa
We don´t whisper secrets to each others ears, my sweet sister.
War ended laughter and play
killed our childhood
and the innocence from us
threw us on different sides of the world
filled our minds with worries.
And now when we phone each other
all we do is yearn the miss of our mother land
and cry the dead loved ones.
Everything is shadowed by worry and loss.
Or then we laugh and remember
the late adolescence
the evenings under the higlo trees
when all the work was done.
And when remembering this
wishing we were young again.
There is nothing bad with remembering
my little sister, my darling
But how can we ever attach to the countries
that we now live in,
how can we ever build a future,
if all we do is live in the past.
The countries that we have settled in
may have pushed us away
more than closed us in embrace;
thrown water and snow
against our faces.
But we have made it my sweet sister
and we must thank Allah for that
we are able to live in peace
and our children have the opportunity
to educate themselves
for children are the future, Deeqa,
and they can rebuild our country again.
So we shall look to the future, my sister,
for the past has been deprived from us for ever
and looking there leaves us
only with bitter fruit.
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