There is a significant disconnection 

between 

this language and my mind, 

 

the history of this place and my time.

 

 

 

Somedays the gap grows to the size of a mountain,

impossible to climb.

 

 

 

 

 

There is a significant disconnection 

between my hands, the pen, paper and this poem.

Each moving in opposite direction,

make it hard to write.

 

 The words slip through my mind,

the pen as heavy as a rock.

 

 

 There is a significant disconnection

between I and they.

 

Thousands years of pride, privilege, prejudice.

 

 

 

Impossible to erase

this gap in between,

disconnects

 

and 

 

the words escape

 

an incomplete never-ending poem.