And yet, we ourselves were familiar with it
The stench of the ship’s holds,
The bitter taste of leaving
We savored it ourselves
And a language to unlearn
And another one to learn hastily
before (learning to ride) a bike .
We experienced it ourselves
Be it the mist left by our breathing on the shops’ windows
And the warmth of a piece of bread
And the shame of being rejected
We knew it ourselves
This way to look on, speechlessly
We were acquainted with the patience
Of those who cannot take a break
And the holy generosity
Of holy giving
We were ourselves acquainted with
The color of slander
And a dwelling modest, very modest
That fails to become a home
And the mist left by our breath on the shops’ windows
And the warmth of a piece of bread
And the shame of being rejected
We knew it ourselves
This way to look on, without a word.