Old Home/ New Home
will there be wind beneath my wings
when i travel halfway across the world
like the way my mother's arms were beneath my body
when she held me and carried me all this way
to the falsified home mountainous, overshadowing my ancestors
will i still cry everytime
when my mother's words pierce through every flap, fold and crevice
obliterating my own hopes and dreams
for the honour of upholding the family name with pride
fossilised through every thought i have, calling them selfish
will i find refuge
will there be a final piece of final peace
when i pass on the knowledge of my forefathers
to my unknowing, unconnected children
who sit polished and pretty inside a box
smothered by their falsified idea of their culture
left behind for the chance of refuge