I was born in my own country,
Bereft of my childhood by wars and suffering.
Lived in the squatters
Some call it “the hood”
Fumes and fret as we struggled without food
Where do I belong?
Am I born here for the heart, the soul perhaps?
My country has turned our lives into debates,
To live here it is only by fate
More like a slave I live a life so intricate
Do I belong here or somewhere else?
For a better life I strive, happy to wake up the next day alive
Out of the borders of my prison or “country” they say,
I abscond to a better home, a place where I can fight for survival with no fear
Will I be welcomed?
I insert myself in a new country
Will it be my long lost home?
Not knowing with and degree of certainty still I seek the answers
Whether or not I will keep my state of dignity
A place so strange I yearn for those familiar faces I once knew.
A place with so different a culture and a language so new…
How do I greet and how will I speak?
Will I fit in here? Or somewhere else?