In this strange country
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 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