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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.