Amidst the sand, the broken concrete walls,

children are waiting for me.

While I shiver in my arctic land,

they inhabit my mind daily.

They are dark and they never saw a skyscraper.

There are always the sand and rocks to stumble on.

There’s the heavy ocean, not a friend.

Here in my ultra-civilization, where everything

must be new and beautiful, light and airy,

I’m thinking of stick shacks, moldy wood,

of where everything is used and unfixed.

They are proud and they never used a washing machine.

Yes, I’m living in my world, but—

my blaring wants and needs are in another place.

When I make my journey, will they welcome me?

Will they remember me and excuse my pallor?