you think it's a simple matter for me to sit next to you
listening to your accusations, my muffled mouth struggling to speak.
for you, i don't exit.  i'm your mind made up
as invisible nuisance from the body politic.
i'm a barricaded problem kept safe from your righteous brew
a statistical nuance, an image frozen in your block of sin.

i'm a hymen-plated person ever struggling to be born
gagged and bound behind veils used to cloak your faults
holding back the flood of freedom pushing at your door
wanting to grow where your desires intend to hold.

how  long will your chains contain me, how long will they hold?
till my skinny arms slip between them and the strength in me is bold.




*Could it happen that with the shrinkage of  the planet Earth distances but also differences between particular countries grow smaller and smaller?
-Czeslaw Milosz


*Perhaps a lost of harmony with the surrounding space, the inability to feel at home in the world, so oppressing to an expatriate, a refugee, an immigrant, however we call him, paradoxically integrates him in contemporary society and makes him, if he is an artist, understood by all.  Even more, to express the existential situation of modern man, one must live in exile of some sort.
-Czeslaw Milosz