Balcony protrudes over the garden
Fenced off
House through the trees
Quiet
A place to write
Light green walls reflecting the sun
Lamps with ghosts
Paintings
It's a horrible thing to be a refugee
I just can't deal with the world
I know longer trust any nations
Detest politicians
But I like my home
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem