Born at the border
Half of a fair, wheat-skinned goddess
Half of a tall, dark mixture of strength and weakness

I ask myself if my favourite dessert
is called paalkova or barfi
I ask myself if the God I worship
is the 10-headed ivory statue or the book filled with characters I don't understand

Born at the border
Travelling between the north and south
with a heavy heart,
I ask myself:
where is my home?

Amongst the colourful rituals
Amongst the tribal rivalry
I find the equilibrium of my existence
The border is my home.
I am the border.