Tourist
The first thing that strikes you
Is the heat. The unrelenting
Punishment of the sun. The smells of
Opium, incense and dust smother you
In a suffocating blanket.
Everyone stares at you
Like you're different, an outsider -
A tourist.
They just brush you off,
An alien.
But I am not an alien.
I am one of them. Their
Own kin. Their own race.
Their struggle to accept me
I do not understand. How I long for England.
