Share:

They told me,

“Stay out of the country, it’s not made for you

Where the skies speak a language

your heart never knew.

Where roads forget footsteps

that don’t match the maps,

And strangers smile softly

with eyes set in traps.”

They said,

“Stay out of the country, don’t chase what has flown

You’ll find cold tea in teacups

and beds not your own.

Their seasons don't turn

the same way as yours,

And silence is heavy

behind painted doors.”

But I wondered

What if the rivers still hum me a song?

What if my roots can still grow where they don’t belong?

What if their borders are only in ink,

And welcome is written

in the way people think?

Still, voices whispered:

“Stay out of the country, you won't understand—

Your dreams wear no passport,

your touch doesn’t land.

The soil won’t hold you,

the sky might forget

And leaving is harder

once hearts are in debt.”

So I stood at the edge

where the fence meets the sky,

And wondered if staying away

meant I’d never try.

But sometimes the bravest

of all things to do

Is to walk away slowly

from places not meant for you.