Not a Children's Song
No matter where I travel,
I go to Nowhereland.
The suitcase full of knowing,
Just knick-knacks in my hand.
As lonely as the desert wind,
As homeless as the sand.
No matter where I travel,
I come to Nowhereland.
The forests are all gone now,
Each home a firebrand.
Found no one left whom I know,
Not one knew me first-hand.
And when the alien bird screeched loud,
I ran, could not withstand.
No matter where I travel,
I come to Nowhereland.
by Mascha Kaléko
1 comment:
A good post. It captures the plight of the exile or refugee.
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