Wandering exile
Despondent but brave
With a suitcase of war tales and woe
Perhaps the flight from death
The sense of abandonment
Dragged me to exile in this foreign city
The soles of my shoes are the whole of my land
Since in a world so wide
I have been given no place to call my own
I write on the walls of the night “be a refuge for humanity”
Like a nudge to quieten the city
My only motivation
My bedtime stories on the coloured walls of the city
That thin the smoke and the disappointment
My language is unknown to all
Even to my nearest neighbour
Who everyday ignores my good morning with an angry scowl
But I still live in hope
I am exiled
And a hundred miles away my whole existence and my memories
Are tied to a patch of land
Which now plays crossroads to blood and terror
But I will still live in hope
Perhaps one day this knot will come undone
And the next generation in this city
Once they’ve read our stories
Will be guests no longer but hosts in their own homes
And maybe my fate
Will curse only their fathers
This is my story
I am a wandering exile
And my homeland is no more
Than the soles of my shoes
