There is a significant disconnection
between
this language and my mind,
the history of this place and my time.
Somedays the gap grows to the size of a mountain,
impossible to climb.
There is a significant disconnection
between my hands, the pen, paper and this poem.
Each moving in opposite direction,
make it hard to write.
The words slip through my mind,
the pen as heavy as a rock.
There is a significant disconnection
between I and they.
Thousands years of pride, privilege, prejudice.
Impossible to erase
this gap in between,
disconnects
and
the words escape
an incomplete never-ending poem.