If I’m lucky enough to birth a daughter 

And she asks me where she’s from

I’ll simply tell her

She’s from a place. 

A place with sour cherry trees

A place of endless rice fields

A place of Persian rugs pomegranates and poetry

A place where I never had the chance to go. 

My birth certificate said i was born in America

But i was the daughter of two Iranian immigrants

I never had to walk barefoot on broken war crumbles

I never had to fear the law 

I never had the scars my mother and father had

The cuts on their feet

The permanent bruises on their limbs 

The marks that stained the body yet crafted the soul

I’m not a war 

I’m not an oil well

I’m not the axis of evil they claim i am

I’m a woman of Iran

It takes a lifetime to stop believing what the world has told you you are

Between my head and my heart

I’ve died for you

I’ve lived for you 

But it is you who keeps me alive

I only ask that your curiosity guides you

I ask that you visit your home country 

A place with sour cherry trees 

A place of endless rice fields

A place of Persian rugs pomegranates and poetry

A place where you will have the chance to go.