My language is poor – I’m not native in any of the four I know.
I’ve travelled the world – seen many
different cultures, and each felt cold.
I guess I just want to go back, home.

Sometimes after a long, hot day of working for a better future,
I wonder to myself:
What is my home and where I belong? Is anything achievable at all? For those like me, for those still lost in the wonder of where they belong.

“An immigrant, a refugee” –
I’m more than that, why can’t y’all see?!

My home destroyed but I stand strong. And not just I, my nation as a whole.
The strongest people I have ever known.

I left not due my will,
I simply had no choice.
I do not ask for loads.

My choice?
Twas death and misery,
or life in misery for life.
Am I fool for choosing life?
In this uneasy time.

A land of rains and tea has welcomed me,
with open arms that clutched me tightly in dysfunction.

I wonder what the future holds for me.
Where will I be? What place will I call home? I guess we’ll never know.