The Heritage Crest

Four strokes. One story.

Lines divide the strokes — but the lines are an illusion.
What they try to part, the eye reads whole.

A cedar, from my father’s mountains.
An olive branch, from my mother’s groves.
A sword, from the sands where I was a boy.
Stars and stripes, from the sky where I became a man.

And the name itself is a question —
keef kareem: how generous?
Love was the answer I found.
Giving is how I answer back.