I leave my village, like dust carried by the wind,
Carrying dreams wrapped in old cloth,
The river whispers goodbye,
As the earth beneath my feet turns foreign.
The sun is different here, it seems colder,
And the streets speak in tongues I don’t know.
But I carry the warmth of home in my chest,
Memories of mango trees and mothers’ laughter.
Each step forward is heavy,
But hope pulls me, whispers of new life.
Still, I ache for the land I knew,
For faces that understood my silence.
I build a new life with trembling hands,
Brick by brick, in a place that doesn’t know my name.
The horizon is wide but unfamiliar,
Yet I stand, unbroken, learning to belong again.
