Knock-knock:
Who’s there?
It’s me; the person you
do not see
Through your peephole
The unfamiliar stranger
Standing on the outside
No longer sure what I’m
supposed to be.
Knock-knock:
What do you want?
I’m so busy
So many things to do
Things that do not
include you
Why are you still out
there?
Get away from my door.
Knock-knock:
Please let me in?
I was born here,
It was once my home
Long ago before you
moved in
Now I have nowhere to go
And no pillow
Upon which to lay my
head.
Knock-knock:
My knuckles are bleeding
Raw from all of the
knocking
Trying to get back in
To return to the
fatherland,
The place where I was
conceived
Where I now stand
knocking
Dying to get back in.
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