Rude hut of degradation.
Hauled water, chipped ice.
Gathered dead fall burning.
One eye open for a decade.
What will be will be.
What has been has been.
My future -others decisions.
Choices few.
Comforts rare.
Wide eyes face east.
Past hopes and ragged huts abandoned.
Desperate voyage embarks.
Leading to the dark.
Others court hope.
From pan to fire.
Same flames different burns.
Wind blew cold and bold in adopted land.
Wind blows hot and steady in ancestral foothold.
Neither is just.
Neither feels right.
Does somebody know my name
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