This is the difference between my father and me
He is the generation first and I the second to he
You will agree he had a place in this world
From where he bound forth to become an Emigrée
Swaddled in the arms of a land he could call mommy
Always pleased to see him as long as he had to share milk and honey
Where as I on the other hand am left feeling aggrieved
For I am neither nor
A bastard of sorts
Without land
my mind roams
Towards the places he had homed
but without any keys
ambushed on route 