i am gripped by fear.
the fear i will never return
the fear i will forget
the fear of war
that it will be taken away from me
that i will become an eternal refugee.
fear of forgetting
yet upon my return
i find myself
tracing the roads leading me
to the past.
this road leads to my grandmother
this one, my grandfather
this one to the house of misery
and this, to my sanctuary.
i have only one mother tongue
it is not english
i have lost it once before
i will not lose it again.
how do you explain to those
who spend their lives plotting their escape
that your privilege is not really a privilege.
my bags were not packed willingly.
my home chewed me up and spat me out
my home left me with no future
my home told me there was nothing for me
my home gave me no other choice
but my home is still my home.