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Sudanese firecracker, Safia (rhymes with mafia), is a little girl with a big voice. This multi-talented casual vandal, is not only a scribbler of poems, but also an IB art student whose topics include henna and body art. Safia began writing in spurts; from third grade, to sixth, but finally took to it as a freshman. However, if asked about being a poet she would probably say she's tenative about the term. Amazingly though, poetry has helped Safia in more ways than just the expression of one's self and the release of emotions; she learned to speak English much faster through the medium of rhythmic literary works. A "Nomad" in the -loosest tense of the word -Safia has lived in more countries by her current age of 18 than most people visit in a life time. Kenya, Tanzania, Egypt, England, Switzerland, Maryland, & DC are just a few places she's stayed long term.
She is a member of HHP's Black Roses, a mentee, or "Seedling", of the Strange Fruits, and a member of the DC Youth Slam Team. Safia also uses her art to help others, by recently sponsoring and hosting a venue to raise money as well as awareness for those affected by the war in Gaza. Be on the look out for this up and coming star, as she is already a voice to be reckoned with.
For More of Safia check her out in Multimedia
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Foundling
by Safia
Copyright: © 2009
Growing and
Glowing and
So beautiful that
It hurt
to blink
When I found you,
Pretty like
Foreign flowers pulled
Up by the roots
And transplanted clumsily
Into garish bouquets
You were singing
To passersby
Of things past
A foundling’s lullaby
Of everything that you’d lost:
Your father,
The Intifada
And lands holier than this;
Cold granite a reminder
Of the rubble,
The only proof that your home
Had ever existed;
And Gaza
And Mama;
You had a sister once, they said;
And the correct pronunciation
Of your name:
Heavier
And clumsier
On your tongue
With the passing of
Each disjointed day
And the simplicity of your beauty was unsettling
“Unsettling”, you breathed,
English too liltingly lovely
To be fluent,
“That’s what the soldiers do
When they burn down our settlements
That’s what mama
Used to say
That they
Used to do”
And only then did the ugly complexity
Of your situation
Reveal its source
The fact that your own name
Feels foreign on your tongue
And that your nationality
Has been stripped down
To a culture
Glowing and growing
You were so pretty
That hurt had no place
In your aged eyes
And beautiful things
Didn’t use to make me cry
Until I
Met a child who
Used to be from Palestine
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