My face is my map
The map of Jigalong written on my forehead
crises after crises
countries after countries
back and forth from other countries to mine
Walking like a never ending cycle
The wrinkles on my face and my white hair that whitens like snowflakes
My dark chocolate skin that melts like butter kept under the sun for too long
My face is my map
The silence of the cold weather and the rolling weights that goes in unison .
The rain drops that goes on my wrinkles is like bomb shell stuck on my face forever
The only thing left is my frown and a rough journey ahead of me
Inspired by an old man from Jigalong an he walked in his life from different countries and how he might have felt