The Poetry of Home
Seven years ago I wrote a poem that became The Home We Make (Lee and Low, 2024).
Seven years ago, I watched Muslims around the world flee their beloved homes in Myanmar, Kashmir, Afghanistan, Sudan, Somalia, Yemen, Syria, and Palestine. Meanwhile, the country I lived in instituted a Muslim ban, cruelly barring those in need of safety, after having a hand in much of the turmoil that had caused the crisis to begin with. The crisis continues today as Muslims around the world are forced out of their homes, their bodies used as acceptable collateral in greedy power, land, and water grabs.
I wrote this book to process the violence I was witnessing. I wrote it to process the racism and othering I encountered as a young, brown immigrant in this country. And I wrote it to process the surge of Islamophobia directed at my family and friends following 9/11. Though the book is fictional, we have all seen the events within it unfold far too many times for far too many people. But at the end of the day, it is a story of hope, perseverance, and love.
Poetry is the way this book happened to flow out. I had images floating in my head that I began putting words to, that eventually, and very naturally became a story. The experience writing this book was quite different than my usual writing style which involves beat sheets, plot points, and character histories. For as long as I can remember, I have always kept a journal of poetry, which serves predominantly as a salve for whatever inner turmoil I may be feeling. However, this time, a story grew out of the turmoil, with characters that I knew and didn’t know at the same time, and it became an exploration of creating a home for them to live in, both figuratively and literally.
There are small pieces of myself threaded into this book. When the little girl is given a plum that gives her a moment of joy, that is tied to the meaning of plums for me. No plum will taste the way plums in Pakistan taste. The taste of Pakistani plums are a marker for me, of where I come from and whenever I have the opportunity to taste them I’m reminded of just how far away that marker of home is for me. It’s the nature of being an immigrant, the liminal space we reside in keeps us close and far away at the same time from these very particular markers of home, belonging, and identity.
I’d like for readers to know that although this book is a work of fiction, there are millions of people facing the same issues the characters are, and just like the characters in the book, some are able to rebuild, while others unfortunately are not. Even though the family in this book chose to leave for their own safety, there are many people in these situations who choose to stay, or are unable to leave altogether. It is important to know that even though being put into the position to make such a choice is incredibly unfair, both choices are in turn incredibly courageous.
The family in the book was able to start rebuilding and met many people along the way, some who helped, and some who didn’t. Remember to be kind and welcoming, because there are people who have had to weather many storms just to be where you are, safe and sound. You never know, you may just end up being a piece of someone’s puzzle, and they just might end up being a piece of yours. And you’ll both be one step closer to home.
For those who have experienced or are experiencing the instability that comes from being separated from your beloved homes, I hope this book provides a sense of comfort and kinship. May you know the peace of home, in whatever shape it takes for you.
Listen to a Meet-the-Author Recording for The Home We Make
Listen to Maham Khwaja talk about her name
Watch an interview with the author and illustrator discussing The Home We Make
Explore Maham Khwaja’s author page on TeachingBooks
Text and images are courtesy of Maham Khwaja and may not be used without express written consent.
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