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There's an ocean in my heart

and it’s raging in a storm,

a storm that no one I know can understand.

It’s a heart that yearns for sun drenched fields of corn and wheat.

It longs for dusty roads and the humid air. 

It seeks those flying kites only described in books,

awaiting the season where my taste buds will be filled with fresh mangoes yet again.

I pray to be reunited with those memories that awaken a part of me I did not know existed,

a land where the my mother tongue is a sweet melody, not foreign, 

a place my heart can call home and my skin not a minority. 

I’m desperate to return to these parts of me I've not experienced,

parts within me that are lost.

This storm, it grows and it engulfs me whole

and I live inside its stomach until it takes away my soul

back to that land, that land we all call mother,

those lands we gave to the hands of another.

And, let's not forget that storms too shall pass

and evergreen fields will be spread far and wide.

The mother land will blossom

with me in its bosom.

Reunited I will be, 

If not now, then in heaven.

by Zohaib Ali