Living with an Arabic name in the Western World. There is bound to be some confusion there, if you have an awkward name just do what I did – write a poem about it.
‘Iran’ was scrawled ever so credulously on the side of my Starbucks cup.
The smiley face doodled aside it was obviously
Little do they know
That I grow in Eden.
I am made up of roses of every colour
As far as eyes gaze.
Where Angels dance and play, within
The beauty I continue to flower.
I ripple and ride in a heavenly state,
Serenely and smoothly, my
I am a source that Bliss derives upon.
Yet Earth holds me
I only met the Angels
Plunging into a fake Paradise
As my spirit dwells
Where Angels laugh and cry.
Where ‘N’ would be ‘M’
Earth battles Heaven for my existence,
Maybe Starbucks is not so wrong after all.