Poetry · 14 March 2026
Wounded Homeland
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The speaker’s concern for a wounded country outweighs concern for their own body, joining personal grief to the hope of renewal.
‘Wounded Homeland’
S. Rouzbeh
Do not think I am concerned for my own body;
I worry for my homeland’s wounded breath.
A mother is bent by grief for her young;
I am the voice of the breath that remains in my words.
A child is left amid the smoke and earth;
fear clings to my mouth and throat.
The house was ruined and the rubble settled;
in a foreign land, sorrow has become my shirt.
Ah, so many innocent bodies fell
to shake the ancient night of oppression.
We did not rejoice in blood, yet
the foundations of my very self were shaken.
From the heart of this night that raises ash,
dawn will break again in my meadow.
I wish for healing only for you,
not for the fever of this flesh and body.
And if death should take me in its arms,
let the soil of Iran be my shroud.