Borders

There is a rainbow on the other side.
The seven colours – glazed with varnish-reflect
The meshed wires and knotted fences.

The rainbow masquerades as a mirror.
It is a mirage –
An impalpable and unreachable destination of equality of opportunity and dignity.

The rainbow is more colourful on the other side.
That is perhaps because the sky is boundless on the other side.
The grass is as green here as it is there, with a scarred earth stretching across without prejudice.

But here is different from there.
There is 'something' yonder. A je ne sais quoi.
And yet I cannot go there to find out what it is.
There is a border – crisscrossing the land separating me from them, mine from theirs.
And yet, if I could just reach through the gaping tear in the border and reach for a fistful of the rainbow…
But I must hasten before the patrolling starts or the ceasefires are violated.

For those in the interiors, borders may not matter.
Borders matter for dreamers,
When they cross over from the predestined to the aspired,
From uniformity to uniqueness,
From being citizens to non-citizens.

They go from belonging to becoming persona non grata/illegal.

Borders

I am on this side of the border, dreaming about the other side. My body is where I am ‘legal’, while my thoughts often wander to lands where I imagine myself sowing the seeds of ideas that liberate.

There is a gust of wind, and I flinch, hastily returning my mind to my body – lest my thoughts too, be deported.