The Tragedy of a Woman
The tragedy of a woman is her strength
hidden beyond broken walls.
The tragedy of a woman is her broken wings,
framed like ancient pieces.
The tragedy is the belief rooted in her bones,
yet she is silenced.
The tragedy can be her tears lying upon the pillow every night.
The tragedy is the nightmares embracing
her innocent heart, burning her endless dreams.
The truth is a tragedy
that exists beyond reality.
It is her definition.
It is the definition of her skin and bone,of her features.
They called her frail, with disbelief.
But it was never her tragedy.
It was theirs.
The Day I Chose Myself
The day I chose myself,
I began making breakfast.
I enjoyed my dinner.
I welcomed the sunlight that rose to brighten my brutal days.
I began healing the damage that once conquered me.
I began curing the scars that no one could witness but me.
I wrote letters to myself.
I found peace in reading, where the lines could speak for themselves, where I could embrace each scene.
I began painting the walls with colors I was oonce afraid of, filling the emptiness within me.
I found peace in corners that I had avoided.
I embraced the parts of me I used to hide.
I chose to be brave and say my name out loud.
I let the world hear my voice.
The day I chose myself,
it was the rebirth of me, of a new day, of a life where everything made sense.
I did not let my soul shrink to satisfy others, to bring them around the table.
I no longer questioned my worth.
I chose myself and no longer sought a new identity.
I no longer searched to be chosen.
I chose myself.
Operation Theater
I was once a dreamer; for now, I am lost.
I was once the little child with a chest full of hope.
I was once the favorite child,
the one who played outside most of the time
and came back to the warmest dinner
my mother made for me.
I was once the poet for all yearners;
for now, I am nothing.
I was once the light for their endless nights.
I was their beloved.
Not old enough to say no,
not young enough to let it all go.
The breath so heavy on my chest.
I have waited for the nurses.
The white halls,
the quiet and usual ones.
I have given my patience to the surgeons.
I overheard the doctor.
I witnessed everything.
Nothing left—
only embracing the truth.
I knew it would be buried.
It would lie beside me under the grave.
It wouldn’t brighten it, no.
No.
The soft breath I took,
each heartbeat my heart held.
But still, death found me.
Perhaps I was over it.
Or perhaps I was ready.
The innocent newborn my mother once held for the first time
is now counting her final minutes.
Author bio/
Sana Jangeer Hamad is a Kurdish author, poet, writer, translator, and final-year English student at Salahaddin University, one of the top ten students in university. From kurdistan, She is a First-Place Winner of an International Poetry Competition, a Voice of Asia delegate representing Kurdish women, and a Model United Nations delegate representing Uruguay in UNESCO and UNDP committees. She has also been selected as a Model United Nations delegate for the UNDP Committee at an international MUN conference in Istanbul. Her poems have been published internationally by literary magazines, organizations, and initiatives, and she has been invited to television channels to discuss her works and achievements. She is a co-author of multiple literary anthologies, with experience in translation, English education, and international youth initiatives, and learning experiences through the United Nations, UNDP, OHCHR, HP LIFE, Google Cloud, Microsoft, and British Council, Cohort.
