Neither our parents nor our children's experience can explain
Language without borders galaxies with no name
We found comfort in being foreign to the family we had known
Familiar in distant lands of peoples unknown
To greet a stranger felt closer to home—fellow aliens bridge of cultures
a dialect not our own
Simple things hospited us most:
wild onions, backyard stolen swings, passports made of leaves—childhood dreams
Home is being counted as numerous as the stars—a place in time is all we need from Gilgamesh to Zanzibar
Stranded with longing
together with the Saints who walked alone
There are millions like us TCK’s
honored guests at your banquets
humble servants at your parades
We could be close as bark is to a tree, distant as a mountain peak to its ravine
Perpetual vagabonds in a land
not our own—troubadour smiles
Always longing for Home...