Exile (To the Homeland)

when streets I once knew screamed in languages I no longer understood,
And people waged wars for which the weapons I did not know how to wield,
And the silence in my head screamed louder than bombs,
My steps took me to seek peace in unfamiliar lands.
Dissolving in lively cities,
All those faces yet none of them familiar,
All those stories yet no bells that ring,
All these trees and no birds that sing,
No one to greet,
No battles to fight for,
No stances to take.
Flags that wave that I cannot plead loyalty to,
Lands that rave with tones I can’t dance to.
Far from home,
A gunshot consistently rang in my ears,
The skies were far too blue,
And the seas too blue,
And the dreams too blue,
I brought war with me everywhere,
Did you?
Here,
I do not feel home in the land of war,
Although I had become war myself,
My home a war itself,
The air war itself,
The city collapses upon itself
We breathe, sleep, and eat in war.
We pray in the name of war,
Sacrifice ourselves,
Our young and old ones,
Our mothers and fathers,
And children and soldiers,
And dames and prisoners,
All to almighty war.
The people here fight over lines drawn in blood,
and I—
I stand apart,
neither friend nor foe,
a spectator to their madness,
Or the madness itself.
bound by a history I didn’t choose to carry.
I walk through streets that reek of smoke,
where shadows cling to alleyways like secrets waiting to be forgotten,
and in the faces of those who stayed behind,
And those who had fled,
I see nothing but my own despair.
We drown ourselves in moonshine,
in the fleeting comfort of oblivion,
Our eyes glaze in the forgetfulness of death,
as if we all chase some forgotten truth,
that had slipped through our fingers the moment the first bullet was fired.
I speak to no one,
for what words could I offer?
What stories could I tell?
Of battles fought in my mind,
of exiles within my own skin?
No, I’m merely a stranger here,
Like I was there,
Like I am everywhere,
And nor the land that birthed me, or the lands it sent me to,
Seem to find me recognizable.
I have no part in these wins,
There is nothing to celebrate,
Yet everything to mourn,
Every blood that spills is mine,
Every loss is my loss,
Every guilt is my guilt,
Every death is my death,
Every stolen home is my home,
And none of the victories is my victory.
I do not fight in this war,
but it fights within me.
In home, I’m exiled,
In exile, I am home,
No city is my city,
No people are my people,
There is
Only myself,
And the madness,
And war
And war
and war
And war.