Photographic Series

by Nidaa Husain

When my feet touched the ground on which my ancestors trod, 
worn sandals and worked feet,
Roots like mango trees on the dry land of my great grandparents 
stretched through my soles, 
looking for the place where their story seeped into my cells and bones
Where I was held in the warmth of my mother
while she in her mother’s, and she in hers…
I was planted worlds ago by the weathered hands that carried their hearts on their heads.
What ocean will I sail, 
the boat I’ve never been on
that will take me to 
a new language
new trees,
leaving me with just me,
holding the soft warm soles to come, 
and my heart on my head,
held since worlds before me, and holding the worlds to come.