Is There Really A Motherland? Poem by Daisy Barman

Whom do I ask?
Who will answer?
Where my motherland is.
And foreign? Where is it?
Which meridian of what longitude?

In every nation
In every direction
Ain't our struggle all the same?
With land
And
With rock, hammer and the machines.

We love our dear ones
And betray the enemies
Everywhere it is the same story
Of power
Of deception
Of exploitation.
There is the same jargon
Same wilful discussion
Of agony, tears and hunger.

There is no difference
Of their strategies
Thanks that we all have
Religion, community and color.

We feast over the flesh of our own people
We drink our own blood
We burn peace in the green fields.

No, we are barely ashamed
What shame?
We let the unabashed banner fly
Over thousands of corpse
Dead and alive.
Then whom do I ask?
Who will answer
Where my motherland is?

Is there a place
Where I wont smell the burnt flesh
Of my kin and kids,
Where the feet wont get stuck
In a plash of blood of my comrades?
Where the sky would be clear
Just like the mirth and laugh of a child.
Where I will have ample clean air
Whenever I breathe.

Is there really a motherland?