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The Refugee

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A refugee,

a stranger.

Once a homeland, a place of birth,

but now in a space,

with no sense,

and no belonging.

You once knew my face

But now, what you see is clear water,

a passing tide on a distant shore.

A touch?

Objective, dispassionate, ice cold,

beyond reach,

and I cannot fathom,

whether it is you or I

that is no more.

Which of us is the refugee?

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