Wanderer.

I am here,

but not

from

here.

Roots,

plucked

up.

Heart,

held

close.

To

protect.

Me.

I

yearn

to

belong.

To

the people.

To

the land.

To

the waters.

But,

where

do

I

plant

my

words

when

the

earth

does

not

recognise

me.

Anymore.

— Wanderer.

{A poem on being an immigrant, returned to the land of my forefathers. A poignant journey of loss and gain.}

Published by

Liezel Graham

Wife. Mum. Lover of words. Lover of the Word. Writer of stories. I drink too much coffee and dream improbably big dreams. The quintessentially weird kid, all grown up and (still) finding refuge in books and words.

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