I feel the weight of one hundred years of oppression
One hundred years of misery
One hundred years of solitude

In a country far from my own

I feel the weight of one hundred years of colonization
One hundred years of beating
One hundred years of rape

In a strange country far from my own

I feel the weight of one hundred years of displacement
One hundred years of forced labour
One hundred years of rebellion

In a strange and far-away country

I reminisce over many sun-kissed days
The custard apples in my mother’s hands
And the vibrant laughter that echoed in the hills

In this deafening country

I despise the silence
I despise the rotten smiles
And I long for the kindness that has the power to heal

In this country with people not of my own

I long for the still quiet waters
And the roaring mountains
That dared to be

In this country not of my own

I long for people to wake up
To quit talking about post-colonial discourse
And realize that we are still living in a colonial era

In this country not of my own
I long for many things