The speaker describes themselves as an exile, but the country they've lost is strange and almost weightless. Its land is clouds, its passport is rustled leaves, and its people are shadows. Even its borders drift and reshape themselves, with no obvious reason, so the speaker has nothing solid to hold on to or defend.
At night, the speaker sometimes glimpses the country's lights among mountains and around lakes, and each light feels like a whole separate world. That image is beautiful, but it only sharpens the distance. The plea "Pity my plight" is direct and a little raw, and the final line, "This estranged land," lands with quiet sadness. The mood is wistful and lonely. The poem suggests that exile means losing a place you can see but never return to, and that home can start to seem unreal, like something half dreamed.