Emigrants Poem by NurViktoria Ellen

EMIGRANTS

With tales of an unexpected
country where spirit is individual still
and freedom possible
you tempt me: Visions of
rare species blossoming among the rosehips
identified by their perfumes only,
family names and dates of birth
no longer branded on their foreheads.
Where personality is not a crime.
“Just wait, ” you tell me (another thirty years?)
“Confidence is your landing card,
and for a proper start, as an entry-fee
all you need is hope.”
As simple as that?
But I was sold out
ages ago.