“Danish spring eats my whole soul with sunny days and cherry blossoms Flirting with the longing of hot summer nights where everybody is in love where we forget all the bad politics, It is the season where you bathe your hair in oils, turmeric face masks, And cumin in salads, The season where Ramadan is A love poem Danish Ramadan heals my soul With spring rain and full moons Where sacrificing the body is the least One can do for the afterworld's beauty For the Most Merciful Creator Riding on the bike through Copenhagen Like a local Like I am more than an immigrant with eyes on my mouth, they will ask me if I need saving But do they not know that we will never be thankful until our Palestine is returned to us Until we can break the fast with a Palestinian date without feeling the pain in its sweetness Until my Afghans can fall asleep in silk, And eat Kabuli Pulao in Kabul without dreaming of Europe Until we can pronounce the name of these countries Without agony? Danish Ramadan in the spring, at the local bazaar looking for the fruitful watermelon, Looking for my mother’s eyes, Asking for the red lentils, Wondering how did I became a woman? When I am not even the half of my mother’s sacrifices I would never sell my hunger for this city, but sometimes I wonder what would feel like to take everything without asking Without considering my heritage, Without considering their values? What about my values? Danish Ramadan, I fall in love with the man of my dreams, Holding hands in the moonlight, Driving all over Nørrebro, at night it feels like we are in our homeland, like a palm tree might grow out of peace here Where the night is the most you get out of your day Where the old uncles are drinking Turkish tea, and asking you to recite your favorite prayer And you will always recite the most love-full prayer, the one where The Creator is introduced as Ar-Rahmanul Rahim Danish spring with moody weather, Like women who are exempted from fasting, eating cake in the brightness of the day That put more salt in their men’s food out of love, out of mercy Breaking the fast at sunset while your wife’s eyes shine brighter than the sunrise And we meet again at Fajr, where we slow-dance in our Abayas and you ask me if I will be this gentle for the rest of our lives? There is so much fever in the world, but this Holy Month reminds us of my Lord’s promises and I promise my husband that indeed I will be gentle for the rest of our lives”
Danish Ramadan from The Immigrations Series by Royla Asghar