Realigning, shifting, sliding.
That’s how it felt to leave.
Changing, readjusting, missing
Family, crying. We were so naïve.
Looking forward, looking back.
One foot there, the other one here.
Is this right? Shall I unpack?
Give it time. At least a year.
Prompt write a shifting poem.
This poem demonstrates how it felt to leave my country fifty two years ago
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