chuquai Billy
I went in search of what they call my roots,
Because I used to have them.
I used to wear it on my sleeve like a broken heart
Stick it up in front of me like a medicine shield,
And it worked.
A comedian once described me as exotic and banal.
Translation: ethnic and boring.
Was it true? All comedy is based in truth.
It was harsh enough to make me quit.
My roots are gone, like a fading memory.
So this is exile
You throw away your country, your friends, your culture, and your soul,
Like a ghost who occasionally exists in the mind of others.
It was so glamourous in the 90s… what happened?
Now I sit locked away in a covid-free room watching the outside world on YouTube in a land far from where I was born.
Maybe I should take a creative writing class?
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*Material should not be published in another periodical before at least one year has elapsed since publication in Whispering Dialogue.
*أن لا يكون النص قد تم نشره في أي صحيفة أو موقع أليكتروني على الأقل (لمدة سنة) من تاريخ النشر.
*All content © 2021 Whispering Dialogue or respective authors and publishers, and may not be used elsewhere without written permission.
جميع الحقوق محفوظة للناشر الرسمي لدورية (هَمْس الحِوار) Whispering Dialogue ولا يجوز إعادة النشر في أيّة دورية أخرى دون أخذ الإذن من الناشر مع الشكر الجزيل
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