CRITICA

Grandpa’s lands were seized by 
The guards who broke in with iron hearts
And shouted like a red flame.
Demanding where my Uncle Yusef, the general, had fled.

Uncle was in a hideout.
That night, he swiftly 
laid out his uniform 
medals on his office desk.
He fled in the dark of the night.

Silent stood my father, 
gripped by fear, 
As the evil drew near.  
‘Tell us where he is!’
Threats echoed loudly.
Father stayed silent.

That snowy night, Uncle took to the sky, 
In a plane from Istanbul to Paris.  

He left behind his sons and their mother.
The sun faded like mint leaves in a glass teapot.
Looking at the window
Was the kindness gone,
would it return and last one last time?
He bid a final farewell to his motherland.

Four years had passed. From Paris,
he migrated to New York City.
His hope flickered brightly.  
Dreams of going back home 
burned through his nights.

For four decades, 
He lived in a foreign land
Finally, he gave up his hope.

Held hostage by fate,
Now that he is dead, 
his ashes in an urn, 
awaiting to be buried one day
In a family mausoleum.