When I was born,
I wasn’t welcomed, unlike you
We’ve been alienated since day one,
Like a bothersome guest, Patiently waiting to be kicked out.

When I was a student,
I didn’t sit in the class
with my bag in my lap,
unlike you
I waited for weeks,
In governmental institutions
Hoping that I’ll find a school that welcomes me.

In my village,
I can’t wander around with my phone
Unlike you,
Our wandering is restricted, for I need a special permit card
To sail my boat in the Marshes, my home.

In my country,
I can’t be proud of my race, unlike you
For I’ll be called a ‘savage’

In my land,
I can’t Cross the Waters,
For they’re split between two countries
And I know,
That my country won’t investigate my murder,
By the boarder police,
Unlike you,
My death certificate will be discarded,
Just another closed case.

In governmental institutions,
I can’t renewe my ID
Unlike you,
I keep returning to my land to finish it,
just like a foreigner
Living here.

In the neighborhood
I won’t play with the kids
Unlike you
Their father will curse me,
“Mi’dan” he’ll say,
Im just like a smallpox to them
The closer I get,
The farther they go.

In my country,
I can’t go to places
Unlike you
We’re restricted
I’ll pass the checkpoints
And get a warranty
Just to get to my town.

I never speak my mother tongue
Unlike you
I speak your language
Complying to your traditions
And believing in your ideals
But you..
You only speak my language
When it’s a comedic relief.

In my area,
We don’t drink fresh water
Unlike you
The government is poisoning the water
and cutting it off our lands
As outcasts of the nation,
we helplessly gulp down the poison.

When the flag is raised,
I can’t look at it as proudly
Unlike you
And I’m a second-class citizen,
I serve “them”
Without even knowing who they are.

In refugee camps in Iran,
I won’t get out of it
Unlike you
in your neighborhood
Like a prisoner without trial,
I’m locked up in it.

on social media,
No one will share the news of my arrest
as they will with you
Unlike you,
Without an Indian face,
they will cry over your disappearance
Like a national tragedy.

n the taxi,
The driver won’t take me to the place I want
Unlike you
He will hate my presence,
and he will look at me
Like I’m about to steal him,
like a homeless person.

When I search for a new job, when I ask a woman to marry me, when I try to buy a house
I won’t expect to be accepted
Unlike you, perhaps you’ve never thought about that before.

In my country,
I can’t say where my home is
Unlike you
How do I answer where is my homeland?
In Iraq? in Iran?
In pictures of the past?
In the deserts of the border?
In the projects of oil companies?
In the hearts of migrant workers?
Or in the estrangement of faraway mothers?

Surprisingly, we are from two different worlds
I was born in another world, with another soul
As for you, you will not be “the other” in anything

I’m an Ahwari, with No identity, No home
With stolen land, and unfulfilled dreams
Ahwari, from a displaced people I am.