Our Forgotten Homes
01 July 2026
A Visual Poem by Dayaxa Saré
Waking up to the sound of the adhan
The remembrance of Allah whispering through the streets
One man’s bounty is another man’s deepest wish
But all was equal in our hometowns
Children belly laughing as they retreat from their schools
Skipping along the sandy roadside
One of them was probably my mother
Young, simple and carefree
And others her friends and friends of friends
God, if I could ask You a question about my homeland,
Would You tell me the reason I was never born there,
Or why I had to experience the life of a legal alien?
Legal because Allah has blessed me with documentation.
Semantics, if you want honesty.
Wishing there was some alternate lifetime
Where I grew up in the arms of my grandmother,
Aunties, uncles, cousins and friends.
Because in Somalia it takes a village to raise a child,
But in Europe, the child is to be seen and not heard.
Although I am satisfied with my life
And the blessings I have received,
I can’t help but feel robbed of a life
I wished I could have lived.
But who says you cannot be grateful and torn?
So, I raise a cheers to 66th year of independence.
I miss you like a dear friend,
Love you like no other,
And dream of you,
Painfully,
Almost every night.
I long to come home,
And the party of people who would have attended with me
Is certainly dwindling, painfully.
As I write this poem,
I’m still grieving the loss of a loved one.
The man who told me about the golden years of Xamar,
Allahu yerhamuh
Now a visitation without him almost feels empty.
But I long to walk the streets he walked,
The schools he attended,
His favourite theatre in the city centre,
And oh, to play football on Lido Beach,
Just like him.
I hope to return home in honour of him,
And Hodan Nalayeh.
May Allah have mercy on her.
As every day passes,
I feel myself getting closer to you,
Even without the picture of a ticket for a plane ride.
Somalia,
You live inside me,
And many others alike.
Please wait on us.
We’ll make it there peacefully,
In shā’ Allāh.
