Someone, anyone, ask my heart—
Because jacayl (love) sounds like a cracked oud . Because qax (exile) tastes like qahwa without sugar. Because hooyo (mother) is the only word that survives fire. koi mere dil se poochhe af somali
— A fusion of yearning, spoken in two ancient tongues of longing Someone, anyone, ask my heart— Because jacayl (love)
Two civilizations. One longing. No translation needed. Only a sigh, a haan , and a hand over the chest. but the wound remains the same.
There is a question that drifts across the Horn of Africa, carried on the khamsin winds. It is the same question that echoes through the lanes of Old Delhi in the monsoon rain. The language changes, but the wound remains the same.