Migration, is a silent death in the arms of a foreign world far from the homeland, speechless and lost in an empty dream that you created for yourself. From the moment you arrive, you armour yourself, and the sad smile on your face is like an artless painting, and the tears on your pale cheeks are the news of your peaceful death.
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You know very well that your path looks like spring, but you will live in the embrace of cold and sad winter. You laugh because of the burning inside, but the tears and the pain in your throat are not hidden.
You think to yourself that maybe if you had stayed, you would not have succumbed to death in such agony.
If you fought heroically with the situation around you, your loss would be a victory and your victory would be the pride of the nation, and your body covered with colourful flowers would sleep peacefully in the warm arms of your homeland.
But alas, now you will sleep alone in the cold soil of a land where there is no place for you even in the calendar of foreigners, no tears will fall for you, there will be no flowers on your bed, and maybe there will be no greenery on your grave so that the birds will sing for you.
You came with passion and left quietly and no one noticed your departure, but the news of your death in your homeland in the streets empty of you and the relatives and acquaintances you left alone leaves a question mark, why?
Why did he leave his homeland?
You cry every night from the pain of loneliness
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