loosened from your fingertips something you so dearly held on to. Imagine how it feels to be chased out of home. I shan’t even remember, when I return to city, I don’t have time to watch the dense mud, Having had two children since then, I am a full-time mother now.īirds, small untamed flowers on the edge of a small rivulet,Ĭlinging to the trees and to the slender leaves, And our teachers, who opened our eyes to thinking about art they helped us to write whatever we felt and thought, without hesitation.Īfter working in the social housing sector for a couple of years, I completed a part time Housing Studies degree at London Southbank University in 2010.
My eyes were foggy and tearful watching the scenery green grass, trembling cold flowers in unreachable corners outside, a rivulet nearby and the open horizon beyond. There, I could observe and feel the first days of the coming spring on a farm, in the countryside and I was with ten other members of the group there. It was one of the most productive weeks of my life. I am a survivor of torture from Turkey and I wrote the poem below with Write To Life, in 2006 in Devon. My Brain is an Immigrant By Senait Hagose Even today, with my own family and no longer coming to Write to Life. I could not have gone and achieved my future without your support and that of many people in the organisation who understood our pain and our problems. Before, I felt lonely and sad I didn’t see a future. Now I have moved on – the group gave me the power to see the future and be someone.
No one leaves home warsan shire citation free#
I felt like I went to my family when I went to Freedom from Torture it gave me strength and comfort I felt free and confident. In one of them, there was a woman with her children, so beautifully dressed, from the olden days, but inside her I could see she was empty.īut there were other pictures, of people who looked angry or sad, and then this picture of a brain it reminded me of anxiety so I wrote about my own brain as an asylum seeker. It was very interesting to go to the Tate you can learn many things from different kinds of pictures. He has a good haircut and well shaven beard Good meals for the days he is home with me. Two stick-like legs and ten skeletal fingers His ribs are sticking out like tree branches To cover his hollow eyes and scrawny neck Which have become a breeding ground for lice So lie still and let me scrub your whole bodyīarber, please shave off his hair and beard Your unkempt beard scratches my soft cheeks Your beady eyes pierce my heart like an arrow You have been my best friend and my love since we met The group has grown since I have been involved – I say the bigger the better! My Lone Soldier by Jade When it is Wednesday, we look forward to a good time and good food. It has changed a lot but we are always there like a family. I have been a member of Write to Life since 2001.
When I joined Freedom from Torture, I didn’t want to open up about these bad experiences because of the torture I went through – my three children, husband, Dad and twin sister were all killed– but when I wrote this poem I felt more at peace. We met at university and this poem is about when he was killed. I wrote this because my husband was a soldier. Over the years, they have built up an impressive body of work.
Write to Life members have collaborated with world-class institutions like The Roundhouse, Tate Galleries and the British and Victoria and Albert Museums.
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