You’re flying like a bird.

No – you’re falling. With broken wings.

You’re steering right into a storm.

Without control – aimlessly – trying to catch some wind.


You’re an uprooted tree.

Roots – pointing nowhere

You’re clutching on your life.

Barely holding on, searching for new ground.


You’re hiding underneath.

Nothing – you’re surrounded by black.

You’re listening, you try to understand:

Words whispering, strange sounds for your ears.


You’re displaced.

Wanting to find your nest,

Wanting to find your earth,

And wanting to find your next.


You’re displaced.

Wanting to find yourself.