From The Womb of Fire

A Poem By Mai Shahin

I came from the womb of the fire,

from a mother who spoke through stone.

She said — child, you are dust and desire,

you are many,

you are one,

you are home.

I came through the salt of the mothers,

through milk that remembered the dead,

through songs that were buried in silence,

through prayers our grandmothers said.

O tribe of the trembling river,

O keepers of flame and sky,

our grief is the drum of forever,

our tears — the reason we rise.

We have fed on ash and hunger,

we have slept with broken names,

yet something holy beneath us

kept whispering — rise from the flames.

We have carried the bones of the story,

through centuries heavy and long,

but even the stones of our sorrow

have learned to hum our song.

O fire, remember us kindly,

O grief, be gentle tonight,

for we are the daughters of silence,

turning our pain into light.

The river inside me remembers,

the soil in my palms still speaks.

There is no border in spirit,

no fence between wounds and peace.

I call to the ones who are weeping,

to the ones who forgot their sound,

return to the breath, my beloved,

return —

to the sacred ground.

We are not broken — we’re molten,

we are not lost — we are wide,

we are the voice of the ocean

singing from inside.

We remember — the first fire,

we remember — the first cry,

and every time we hold each other,

the world learns — how to survive.

So gather your drums and your daughters,

your brothers, your candles, your song,

the tribe has been sleeping too long, love,

the tribe has been sleeping — too long.

Light the fire — in your chest,

let the smoke become your breath,

and whisper through the wounds that ache:

I am alive. I am awake.

Mai Shahin

December 23rd ,2023