Stranger Among my own People

 I am a foreigner in my native land.
 I am a stranger among my own people.
 My outlandish look betrays my origin.
 My tongue speaks with ancient accent.
 I wonder often why did my ancestor
 come to this weird country
 with queer customs
 to drink fiery water
 and inhale intoxicating smoke,
 where dirtiness of mind is praised
 and purity of life is in disdain.
 where national feelings and pride of language
 tear the unity of love apart
 and fake paradise looks like slavish work
 before the benevolent benefactors.

 Here degrading morale is simple justification
 of immorality and beautiful curtain over evildoers.

 Poetry and Photography by Igor Marinovsky