The Foreigner

Mon, 02/24/2014 - 22:11 -- shreeya



And now here I am.

Struggling to connect to a place.

A place my parents called home,

In this foreign land.

I watch a man bathe himself on the sidewalk,

While his son pushes the hand pump.

They carry jugs of water,

And hang it on the handlebars of their bike.

Their drinking water for the day,

The process would begin again tomorrow.

And I watch as they pedal away…


I am unsure of how to fit in here.

Wearing flip flops inside the bathroom,

As it’s too dirty to shower barefoot.

Sharing towels as there aren’t enough to go around.

Layering myself with warm clothes at night,

As the house is cold and dreary, without air conditioning.

Finding stray dogs on the streets,

With no owner to love them.

Trying to look away from the poverty,

Even though it is sitting,

And begging beneath my nose.

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