Migrant

50

It’s been 1031 days since I’ve been away from my home.

Some of us have lost count and moved on, 

some of us too busy living and forgot to count, 

and some with a disoriented self, 

tormented by the constant mutation the mind undergoes, 

stood puzzled, not knowing what we are becoming.

An endless loop, nailed to our life coated with darkness.

Our sense of identity is constantly challenged and eroded.

One can do little to nothing to resist this constant sense of alienation.

Like an aimless kite, I’ve been roaming,

 not knowing if I will ever get back to my home.

I’ve always been a drifter, 

and now it seems like the paths are drifting away from me.

These are times of despair and suffering one must go through to rejuvenate to a new future.

Maybe, just maybe, the future holds a bit less suffering,

nights and prosperous days for you, my friend.

You’re not an alien in this land, my friend,

for we all are born into this same soil.

Sucking the same milk,

drinking the same blood,

bleeding the same colour.

For we all are migrants to this mother earth 

who came from eternal oblivion of truth.