Home

There’s a corner so small

That fit me perfectly

In my childhood home

Where I loved to be

There’s a smell

Of what?

I can no longer tell

But it comforted me

There are places that I know

I’ll never again see

Circumstances

That I wished have gone differently

There are pieces scattered

Along the Mediterranean sea

Pieces of me

Still stuck in a small corner

Of a childhood home

Where life played out

Perfectly

Aphotic World

She was a light that glowed
In a dark aphotic world
Beam piercing with light
Disturbing the inhabitants
Pushing away the night
Making the creatures too uneasy to stay
Banishing the darkness away
She was named
Love

Surreal

I thought it magical
Surreal
That the night sky
Be filled with steal
And change to day
Flash after flash
Of the bombs falling my way
I thought it a beautiful end
To an uneventful beginning
The 13 year old is no longer begging
To stay alive

Fig Tree

The fig tree by the house with no backyard

Always welcomed me

It was comforting and warm

Teaching me

A child I was

Not knowing death nor life

It taught me eternity

The fig tree in my grandmother’s house

Will always live within me

Heaven

Some days I crave a sun so bright

Instead of Memphis rain

And people that can say my real name

Some days I feel my skin turning back

A darker shade close to black

And I hear my roots calling me home

But most days I know I am not alone

In feeling so far away from home

We’re all immigrants after all

Waiting for the call

To return to heaven

Important Announcement!

Hello friends, reader and fellow writers!

The ebook version of my book Stranger Paths, The Magic in The Madness is FREE on Amazon today and the next 2 days!

I would love to see it in your library and hear your thoughts about my journey from Iraq to America, from war to hope.

I hope you join the child I was, as she stood watching missiles brighten the darkness of her village, smiling as she hopes for a change. I hope you see the positivity leaking through my pages bit by bit as poems continue on. I wish to share the untold story of my people, of the civilians at war, of the children that had no choice but to accept their fate.

Our days are numbered but our numbers mean that we have survived so much, that we’re all the same.

Walking Desert

I never thought it a desert

Nor did I ever judge the sands

I thought it a home

That I could hold in the palm of my hands

Sticking to my curly hair

And the shoes I wear

I became a walking desert

Completely unaware

Of the sands of my people

Clinging to my form

I wore as proudly as a soldier

Wearing his uniform

 

 

Stranger Paths, The Book

Stranger Paths, The Magic in The Madness Poetry Collection is now available on Amazon

This book contains three chapters, each starts with a short story about the author.

R.J. Zarkani, was born in Iraq and lived through the Iraq war which influenced her writing in unexpected ways. This book brings a unique perspective of the war from a child’s point of view. You can witness what she had witnessed and stand where she stood. Watching the bombs as she now watches fire works on 4th of July and you can know that you are safe.

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