I bloomed in a stranger’s garden,
I called its soil my home.
Every flower that
Bloomed there,
I called my brethren.
I tried to spread my roots
Across the same soil,
But was cast out—forever foreign.
The soil remembers,
Yet it could not feel my warmth.
My roots clung desperately,
But the earth would not hold me.
I reached for every patch of soil,
Countless sub-roots,
Yet all ran dry.
The roots’ consciousness
Detects what is foreign.
I wore a veil to hide it,
Yet all my labor went unseen.
No thunderstorm, no hail
Raged in my heart—
Just a quiet longing
For a place called home.
Mar 1
Mar 1, 2026 at 11:33 AM UTC
I bloomed in a stranger’s garden,
I called its soil my home.
Every flower that
Bloomed there,
I called my brethren.
I tried to spread my roots
Across the same soil,
But was cast out—forever foreign.
The soil remembers,
Yet it could not feel my warmth.
My roots clung desperately,
But the earth would not hold me.
I reached for every patch of soil,
Countless sub-roots,
Yet all ran dry.
The roots’ consciousness
Detects what is foreign.
I wore a veil to hide it,
Yet all my labor went unseen.
No thunderstorm, no hail
Raged in my heart—
Just a quiet longing
For a place called home.
