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