I fly away
to you.
I leave you …
I Take refuge in my self.
– Immigration

H.CH

Words slip through our fingers
words are blooming
between our lips
the silence flows from our eyes
we are the harms of this empty era.

H.CH

Hey you rose, rose,
where is your true colour of love?
– The summer discussion.

H.CH

A day wakes up
lazy, tired already –
it’s gloomy, crowded.
I am always wondering
why there isn’t a place
to call home?
– A refugee’s thoughts.

H.CH

The distance is what makes us vulnerable.
to happiness and sadness,
to death and birth.
but what truly makes me fearful
is calling back home
and getting no answer.
– Since I left home.

H.CH

I love your hands,
they remind me the softness of my skin.

H.CH

There is a city
beyond the hedges.
I will find you there.

H.CH

Like a feather
light, tangible
yet latent.
while I try to fit in a box.
then, I fly away
I start again.

H.CH

All your imagination,
inspiration,
all your desire
while you are wandering
in your dreams
to find a place to
live the magic moment of
your human experience,
you are going to live
the Impossible Neutrality
of Relationship, Love
Happiness and Sadness.

H.CH

Have you received at least once in your life
the unconditional love? they asked.
that’s the key. they said. 
between our worlds there are doors to despair and joy.
the way you and I communicate is filled with stories from our ancestors.
all our sorrows, all our madness and solitude. 
yet, we are seeking for joy.
one day maybe, we are going to the right door where we can stop to pretend. 
One door to despair and one door to joy.

H.CH

I swim
I swim
I rock
in the palm of your hands.

H.CH

I had started a poem:

Here, here, my hands.
Take them.
Take my hands
With these hands,
I’ll write you stories that have never been told…

I wanted to write to you, my little Nina.
My poem remained unfinished. My heart was torn. I read among the news coming from my country, coming from one of your countries of origin, a news that turned the world upside down on my head, on my heart, on my being.
Nina, you will be fourteen in September. And I wanted to talk to you about the beautiful days that lie ahead in your future. Then I read this news.
She was fourteen years old. Her name was Romina.
My Nina, Romina lived in Iran. She came from the same province as your mother and I. She came from a village called Haviq, in the city of Astara, which is on the border of Azerbaijan, on the Caspian Sea. She probably dipped her feet in the blue-grey water of the Caspian Sea, just like your mother and I did when we were still living in Iran.
I will tell you a story, which did take place.

She was fourteen years old
Her father killed her
with a hatchet.
Her name was Romina.

H.CH

Palpable
like the sound of silence,
shared between our gazes.

H.CH

Being alone never bothered me.
my sorrow is the loneliness
which eats my soul in silence.

H.CH

I follow the light,
she knows the path.

H.CH