Home

I want to go home, but it no longer stands.  I want to go home. But where it stood is just crumble walls and trample memory. Some decline to leave. My great grandmother live in that house for ninety-four years, and says No, to be bullied from her home. She will be gone before I am return. I stay unsure  if I want to go back at all. There is nothing left.

My country was beautiful. The people most beautiful. The land is tough, but yields to those who work hard. We take care of each other.

But I am in your countries. Nobody sees me, but here I am. I am right beside you. Still you do not see me. I step aside so you to pass, but you do not see me. I offer my seat on the public bus, you take it, but you do not see me. I hand you coin I saw fall from you, but you do not see me. I queue for refuge but you do not see me. I ask you please to let me work but you do not see me. I queue for job but you do not see me. I queue for a lunch ticket but still you do not see me. I queue and I queue and I queue for a soft word or a smile from someone of you, a glance would do, but you do not see me. If your country catch fire, if I can safe in my home, I will offer my home to you, just to show you everything you needed- and then you’ would see, what it is you really need all along.

I want to go home. And if I could, I would say Welcome, Friend.

So be my brother. Be my sister. I am so tired, and I can’t go home.

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About hereisthemoment

I write. Sometimes I don't.

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