by March 4, 2020 0 comments

I do not recognise
My city
I do not recognise
My country

Not because
I do not have one
But because I have too many

But isolated
I do not have the poles
Or the canvas
To build my own tent
Only a bag

To roll up
To move on
To flee

This dead city of mind
This barren country of mind
This long tall history of mind

With its flags
And its books
And their songs
And their words

Which can only fill holes
In its ash ridden borders
And not the vast depths
Of its fathomless heart

Still alive
And yet distant
Like the faintest beat of its waves

Still here –
In this blown speck of dust
Caught in the bright rays
Of its piercing light

editors note:

We’re all refugees on this rock. – mh clay

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