We present you a poem from Rosa Bino, a member of old Chechen diaspora in Jordan.

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Where We Belong

There is a wound in my heart,
The older I grow the deeper it gets,
‘Cause the older you get the wiser you become,
The wider your eyes open up.

I tried to forget,
And
Move on,
But,
How can someone forget the place
Where he is supposed to belong!

It’s like I’m homeless.
Wherever I go,
I feel different,
I try to blend in,
Try to forget,
Try to move on,
But then before I go to sleep
I shed some bitter tears
For the years spent away
From the place they call home.

Home!
Isn’t that the place people peaceful live in?!
Then how come we call it home,
When nobody actually enjoyed living there!

Sometimes I wonder,
Why our nation was the chosen one to be destroyed
When there is many others,
I wish no harm to anyone,
But accepting the fact that
I might never take a free air breath is suffocating me.

I wish,
I was an old oak tree back home,
A tree that embraced our home land’s soil.

I wish,
I stood still there,
Just like a great unbeatable mountain
To witness it all,
And tell the story
About the place where we belong.

Rosa BINO