I’m a native Babylonian
Born with blood from others like me
A strong Babylonian mother who clothed and fed
Cultured by my media, a shaved disciple before a glowing screen
I breath in unison, initiated into the cult of this land
My heart dreams in Babylonian.

Not sure what to think when others
Further along than I
Declare their proud independence
“I am in this world, but not of it, a stranger in a strange land!”
Sipping Starbucks and glancing at their Seiko.

I still unbuckle my discolored jeans
They quietly pile on the cold tile floor around my bare ankles
I sit on a white Babylonian throne
Relieving myself from the burdens of waste
Thin paper wipes the excess, fragrant soap and warm water combine to clean
A daily reminder of where I’m from.

I can’t invade this land
A missionary zealot with appropriate passion
I’m one of them and this land is already mine
I’m changed, yes, I am newly alive
A clean heart fixed to a renewing mind.

But I know my stripes
I know my noise and my quietness
I have hope for where I go
I walk newly now
But as a Babylonian with love
Among my people.