This short poem is dedicated to all children that were born stateless, persecuted for their ethnicity and culture. And to their parents, often their mothers, who carry on their ancestral bond through language.

My children are the fourth generation in the diaspora, carrying on their mother tongue, Kurdish. My grandmother, was born at the end of the Ottoman Empire, in Oremar, Kurdistan, what is modern Turkey now. My mother was born in exile in the southern deserts of Iraq and then grew up in Baghdad before leaving as a young adult to Europe for her medical studies. I myself was then born in Germany and my children in Berlin, and Berkeley, California. Kurdish has carried on and created the invisible bond to our ancestral lands.