Me too, a migrant.
Though I live
in my own country.
Endless similarities,
we have.
You and I.
Endless legacies
we share.
You and I.
Boundless aspirations
we long.
You and I.
Boundless dreams
we desire.
You and I.
But
Still on my horses back,
I carry an elephant full of misdeeds,
which my ancestors did.
You say so ...
I still carry the smell of Arabia,
the odours of Central Asia,
and the stink of invader’s blood.
Though the great great grand father
of my great grand father,
generations ago,
did ablutions from the water of Ganges
at Maner Sharif
and offered namaz
on the rocks of Bihar Sharif.
And my great grand father ploughed the lands
on the shores of the River Morhar
and grew pulses, and wheat, and rice,
only for his great grand son.
to be called an outsider!
© S. M. Yahiya Ibrahim