About Leaving

You pack your bags, and leave.
You head for a land that is less chaotic,
you aim for a new life; for
an apartment in the city, for a career
that guarantees you two meals a day, and
you think you'll never starve again.

You try to scrape the mud of your history
off your chin,
with the passport, to pluck
out the few jasmines left on your chest,
to forget about the damp roof
you left behind.

You grin as the plane takes off.

But truth is, you'll realize it won't be easy.
Truth is, with time, those
foreigners who may pay you to draw
them by calligraphy they'll never understand
will find a better street artist.

Truth is, with time, you'll find
in your luggage
those white flowers still pressed closely to
your clothes.
The photos of your one-bedroom house
will flutter before your eyes all the time
like angry smoke
and choke you
hard, and your soul will be hungry,
hungry like never before.