This year, it is on the beautiful island of Bali where the 7th Global Platform for Disaster isk Reduction took place from 23 to 28 May 2022. The opening ceremony kicked off with a ''feast for our eyes'' presenting to all delegates a traditional welcome dance from its hosting country, Indonesia. This dance tells a tale of love, joy, and gratitude for life. From its vibrant colours and numerous dancers, we cannot help but feel the power of vibrant collaboration, a recurring theme in the 7th Global Platform of Disaster and Risk Reduction.
Following the welcome dance ''fire of passion'', Emi (Emitithal) Mahmoud, a Sudanese American slam poet and the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees goodwill ambassador entered the stage to present a poignant and awakening poem called ''Di Baladna'' translating to ''Our Land'' in Arabic.
''I come to you as someone who is from Sudan and grew up in the United States, so I have the added perspective of being from one of the countries that is most culpable of a lot of the damage that we are here to address and originating from one of the countries that have the outside's impact."
In her speech, poet, Emi Mahmoud, asked the delegates, excellencies and the international community listening online to bring youth into the conversation. Miss Mahmoud is highly concerned with the rising 100 million displaced people in the world from which 80% are at the frontline of the climate crisis.
Here is an extract from her poem ''Di baladna''
If you are reading this, I forgive you.
You have grown far from the heart of me my child,
have lost the familiar love we held for one another in your first years of life.
When you were young, you marveled at the plants and critters than ran across my bosom,
You worshipped the water, swan up and down my rivers, drank from my rain, laughed at each first snow, begged for sun on the cloudy days,
you didn't hesitate to sink your fingers into the mud of me,
and tickle loose little pebbles, droplets, seedlings, and worms.
How you came to me, resting your head at my tender hearth, your weary body in my pockets,
you loved me,
you nurtured me before you knew what it was to nurture,
tended me before you knew what it was to tend,
tiller, sower, farmer, green thumbed little one,
you knew me.
Lately, you hurt me,
You break and cut and tear into me,
and I forgive you.
For I am a part of you,
When you were young, you asked me why they do this,
you begged me to make sense of it all.
All I could offer you then was a promise that wherever you would go you would find me,
But now there's not much left for me to promise.
I do all I can to heal,
But my weary body can't
Clear away the hurt so easily,
My water rush but do not soothe,
The air in my lungs suffocates little ones,
I cough and spew and gush and bruise and it will not heal.
Child of mine, if you are reading this, I need you.
If this land could speak,
would she thank us, praise us,
would she ridicule us or beg us?
And now the earth began to purge us too.
If you could stop the next tornado from hitting your home,
the next hurricane from wiping out your city,
the next drought from starving your people,
wouldn't you?
