I've been uprooted thrice. First found

no comfort in being myself. By 

being swept off the ground.

The people hanged stigma over

With voices harsh and loud

Second, the state failed to make me proud

It suggested how different was I

To join 'em on the carpet, so it put me lower -

Under, Where it hid the mound 

of corpses of rainbow color, 

bleached by 

the past, by the present, and fear to hope 

and now is the future, and this is a third

Time Uprooted I am, can i cope?

Can I cure this fever of 

fear unconquered 

Since I know 

Where no root of mine can grow?