i am not from here

i was birthed 

in a country

where the mother harvests rice off of a paddy field 

beads of sweat trickling down her body

and the father gathers Hilsa fish with a worn and frayed net 

his bare back kissed and blackened by the sun

In a country where

the elephant and the tiger coexist

wherein festival colors of summer, fall, winter and spring

and joy and laughter are both found

on the faces of the youth 

 In a country where

the cumin, coriander, clove and cadamom spices

fill the air and the intricate sarees and kurtas of the women and men

the salt of the bay travels with the rickshaws

and indoors with the villagers

where the children run in marshes 

and bathe in green ponds

But my poor little country

seems to have forgotten

the honorary battalions that gave us independence

from the clutches of injustice

The elephant and the tiger have clashed

in a frenzy of teeth, limbs, tails and bodies

So my mother of two 

and her children clasping her lal dupatta

moved to a country where the streets were said to be paved in gold

a place that advocated liberty, and justice for all

but i was teased for

hair that grew like sporadic paradisal gardens on my skin

and cotton clothes that were made with the delicate fingers of a diligent human

Like dust 

injustice fell upon my new abode

and dust it was

because it continued to grow

i left to escape 

the boughs of misanthropy

but its shade passed two hemispheres

down it planted seeds of discourse and distrust

now i wonder why

we created imaginary borders

classfied ourselves

and seperated eachother to the point

where we forget 

that we are all but one and the same

and that the elephant uses its tusk to dig for water

that the tiger later drinks after a long hunt