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