
Diaspora, the First
a word that
flows like honey
from the mouths of
Intellectuals
and leaves their
tongues tasting
of bitter vinegar
Their stories—
My stories—
Our stories—
Converged together
One.
Diaspora, the Second
a word that
diverged from
the First, that
morphed into
a new force
A power, exerted
upon me:
An Oppression
just for me
It tightened the noose
round the neck of
beliefs I thought were
infinite, universal:
A Mother’s Love
and it strangled me
until I lost
every breath
And like the First
I was forced
into a craft
that bounced upon
a great big ocean
I’d seen for the first time
while bound
in chains unbreakable
towards a living death
that no one
should have to bear
An ocean path
breaking me
from the earth I walked,
from the spirits I praised
and bowed me under
something
more oppressive
and cruel
and lonely
and desperate
And like the First
I had to build anew
under a yoke
forced upon
my shoulders
And like those before me
I had to overcome
to escape to new places
to believe in new things
To change.
To change.
To change.
To change.
To change.
Until what I was forced
to leave behind
stung a little less
until what I realized
was never mine
broke me no more.
And I became.
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