© Lozan Yamolky
Dedicated to my beloved Nana Fatim; may her soul forever rest in peace.
She told us stories; more than a few.
All were old; none were new.
She told us stories from her heart;
She held our minds spellbound, every part.
She told and retold, as we lay on the floor,
we listened as though we hadn’t heard it before.
Stories of sadness, fright or despair;
all ended triumphantly with joy in the air.
Tears flowed whenever she laughed;
when father got mad, she was our life raft.
She was always busy keeping our house clean;
But never too busy to listen to our dreams.
We ran shouting her name to the end of the street;
the joy of expecting her was always a treat.
Without her aba-ya* and slippers she’d never go outside;
we always hid them both to keep her by our side.
She told us many stories, and testaments of strong faith;
taught us to deepen that well within and never leave room for hate.
I’ve forgotten all her stories except for one;
I try to recall more, but alas, I find none.
I know within the folds of my beating heart,
inscriptions of her stories created love’s sweet spark.
Her stories, I may not be able to fully recall,
but memories of her telling them are not forgotten at all.
Nana, larger than life you are to me.
Empowered by you, I am loved and I am free.
You are no longer here with us; you have left this earth,
but your humble soul carved tenderness in me since birth.
I carry your essence with me wherever I may go,
because your passion and kindness are deep within me, I know!
© Lozan Yamolky
Silver Bow Publishing 2017
Disclaimer: Photo by Harry Braun (Oahu, Hawaii 2016)
aba-ya*: a traditional black head to toe cover women in Iraq wear when they go outside.