Our legacy is one of the constant refugee.
Constantly running away from oppression.
Out of fear for our lives and survival of our family.
Our lives become menageries of tragedies.
Latent ones that remain through generations,
Chronic ones that hum themselves in stories,
And acute ones we feel within ourselves,
Where do we really belong?
And while thinking this we sense an unfamiliarity with the ground beneath us,
But it is also strangely familiar at the same time, as it is just as we are – there.
We are strangers in our motherland,
And lesser anywhere else,
Nobles of faraway lands,
We cook and clean, and work with our hands,
And dream with our wings spread wide,
Across demilitarized zones and mines.
We find power in our strife,
To make the best of life.