Tuesday, March 20, 2018

The migrants

A poet died today,

He was from the same city
to which I belong.

He created his place
in this new world.

Loved by all.
Remembered by few.
He was a migrant to this city
just like me and many others.

The migrants never really forget
their homeland.

They live,
in their homeland
and the new land where they work,
simultaneously.

The migrants
they miss their languages.
the languages less spoken
but sweeter than the one they use at work.

Is it just nostalgia?

Maybe the birthplace
has something to do with our psyche.

The lullabies which were sung
to us when we were kids,
gets entrenched in us.

We leave places, cities and towns.
but they never leave us.

They remain in our sub-conscious
hidden from everyone.

and they
come back smiling when we write.

~ by Md. Shahid Kamal Ansari 

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