Foreigner

As an irritant I could come to you.
A foreigner, I may arouse mistrust,
prodding you downward toward your basement,
lighting up much rotten wood and rust,
drawing you deeper to your divine element.
I am no more a foreigner to you
than you are to yourself. All those stars,
so distant, unimaginable spaces,
so distant – yet they’re no less a part of you.
What you call your family and home
is scarcely a bubble of the foam
you surge; what you currently believe,
this human lifetime are a single dream
among the many dreams that you weave.
What seems most foreign is deepest in you.
Your family: they feed, support, console
an impoverished version of you;
they do not draw you deeper into your soul.
Not among your friends are those who see you
as but a person struggling in the world,
though they clothe and feed and shelter you.

Share: