Who I am -
May I say I am a flower fallen,
Withering in the dust,
Longing for the bough I was born on;
May I say I am a kite broken,
Plaything of the winds,
Longing for the string that held me;
May I say I am a son exiled,
To wander from shore to shore,
Longing for the soil that made me;
But the bough bears new blooms,
The string flies new kites,
My motherland has new sons;
All we can do is wander, drift, meander;
Can you, O city guards,
Give us a home to die in?
But all they can give us is a rubbish bin's
damp, smouldering fire. Thus must we -
The flower, the kite and I perish.
All they agree to do
Is scatter our ashes in the wind,
And in its ceaseless motion,
We find our graves.