I'm still walking unpaved roads
where the shadows hide all who walk
still in a quiet rage and all thoughts subdued
unknown, unacknowledged, unaccepted
without space and enclosed
inhabiting a Kafkaesque inhibiting world
with a unique identification number
and chasing paper -
posed like Rodin's statue
but in truth an emptied scarecrow
(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))
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