Not far from there,
I see her running with joy.
I hear her laughing,
I read her writing,
I listen to her teaching,
I am inspired by her talent.

But it was when I moved away,
after I was separated from yesterday,
I remembered when she cried; she was hit,
before her voice rose up.
After, she smiled,
but her life was regarded
as a mistake, which no one
wanted to exist.
When she went out,
eyes stared
and lusted after her.

It is how it is there.
My heart hurts with stopped breath,
when I do not know if we
are the wrong gender,
Or if we are born
in a mistaken place.
We cannot choose
these things ourselves.
But it touches my tears
when it comes in my mind
and in front of my eye.

By Basira

Photo by Lt.j.g. Matthew Stroup