home & diaspora


every departure,

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.


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