Lost in Exile

By Brwa S. Rasheed

I have no name. No home. No past.
Only the taste of vanished cities on my tongue,
only the echo of voices that once knew me,
now swallowed by time.

I walk like ruin,
like something history has already buried.
The wind does not carry me home.
The earth does not know my weight.
Even the stars�"those cold, distant witnesses�"
have turned their backs.

I have begged the night to remember me,
whispered my name into the mouths of rivers,
pressed my hands to the dirt like a prayer.
But the world does not answer.
The world does not care.

I am exile. I am absence.
I am the silence after the storm,
the footprints already fading,
the shadow of a man no one waits for.

If I disappear tonight,
let the wind scatter my bones like forgotten songs,
let the rain wash my name into the sea,
where even the lost become less than a memory,
less than dust,
less than a dream no one dared to keep.