Down Refugee Road

The clouds are my country,

The rustled leaves, my passport.

My countrymen are shadows.

Our borders meander

And change their contours so often

Without a hint of casus belli.

At night I see sometimes

Its city lights nestled among its mountains

And round its lakes.

Each light another world.

Pity my plight

For I am an exile condemned forever To view my country from afar.

This estranged land.