I put on my mask and sunglasses as I walk into a half empty store. The presence of unknown is so obvious its cutting the
A child on the father’s lap With fearful eyes searching for answers “Are we ok? Who is this mob, dad?” Choking on his tears, he
My sweet, my lonely heart is skeptic. Each word, each action probed. Ideas scrutinized and questioned “not true” – the heart runs into a default.
They say the eyes are windows to your soul. Your pupils. Oh, they can show Pain, joy, and pleasures. The anger, fear, sadness. The pupils,
Over hundred days of burning fires As though hell broke through my Tigray. Who is to blame? Has the government conspired? Is this an ethnic
Somewhere in the dry land of Tigray, Between Tekeze and Gash rivers, A teenage girl screams in fear, Young body, young soul is torn like
On today’s day and over 20 years ago, I left my homeland for an adventurous journey for an opportunity and to find my purpose. This poem is to the man who shaped my life, whom I missed dearly, and who is always in my heart. My father. The photo posted here is the actual photo of my father.
I will be with you always, Your air, your sun, your rain. I will think about you always You have found a way
I hear the storm; I hear evil sounds. They chase me down in the corridors. The growls and rage are on the ground. Casted scene