Lost in the aisles of somewhere,
Entrapped in the concept of nowhere.
I am in search of a destination,
Crossing paths across terminal location.
Citizen, bound by an ethnic circulation,
International, condemned to encircling global territory.

Immigration, I march down barricades,
Guarded by soldiers of treason, renegades.
A buzzer goes off and I fail the test,
of what you may ask,
Colour, race? Identity, space?
Would I pass the test?

Confined now to seats with strangers,
embarking on a similarly different journey.
One hundred and ninety-six unique people,
variant definitions of home.
A cataclysm of diverse cultures,
within an arms reach, yet ever so often untouched.

If “airports”, symbols of sincere goodbyes,
could become springboards of eternal companionships.
and harness their true potential, it would not be a pity.
A serene-ly-deep-pity.
Violence and destruction,
for fear of superstition and conventional thinking.
A chance at multi-culturalism & ethnic-integration,
lost at each passer-by, neighbour and attendant.
All masked by a determination to reach home;
a mere destination.

by   Nene Azu

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