And where is home?
Saniye asked.
Home is where the roads
Rise to meet you.
Home is where everything,
Trees, birds, and old stones
Move to greet you.
It’s where your heart beats
To songs playing in your soul…
Never forgotten

Home is where the afternoon sun
Says with every ray and every dust
Salaam! Peace! Welcome back San!
And where the dreamy, distant hills
Gather to embrace you.

Home is where you forget yourself walking,
And where your feet know every step intimately…
It’s where the wind travels gently on your face
And where the wind takes you to faraway places
But never too far from home,
Never too far from you.

Note from the artist: Very often people ask me where I come from. With an accent and a face that could belong to many places, I understand. But this time, the question sparked a real connection; real, because it generated a new life: a beautiful poem!

I was waiting in Montreal train station. Saniye, new in Canada and missing her homeland, took a short breath as if she remembered something and gently asked: Where is home Aïda, with an emphasis on the ï, the way my name should be pronounced. From my response to Saniye and the tears in her dark green, sad eyes this poem was born. The poem was literally dictated to me in one minute; here it is, as my hand wrote it…