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LOVE, YOU DON’T KNOW

LOVE, YOU DON’T KNOW

You don’t know what it’s like being a foreigner
in a beautiful and fascinating country like this;
you lack everything, in the end, nothing: just
a piece of thin paper, that’s called “permission.”

You’ve never walked on the street like a shadow
because your name does not exist in any office,
see all of your broken dreams under your steps,
no one says your name, you are anonymous.

Dreaming with eyes open to meet the relatives,
be able to return to your birthplace at least once,
follow up with tears a plane very high in the sky,
sleep badly because of the anxiety and the desire.

You haven’t tried when the soldier pushes you
to the checkpoint that the two borders divide,
if in an instant you dare to look him in the eyes,
anger and resentment will unleash like sparks.

No, you don’t know what it means to be taunted
as you are trying in vain to find the right word,
how you feel miserable, insignificant, and futile,
wanting to vanish immediately from this world.

Love, you can’t understand even if very close
to the fireplace, we’ll converse both night and day.
You don’t know what it means to be a foreigner;
the suffering has no voice and even so the pain.

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