This land does not belong to me; It is not my land,
Through no act of volition was I born here,
Instead of the across one of those concocted borders,
A chance event, nothing more; for better or worse, I do not know
This is not my land any more than that clear azure expanse is my sky,
Or the sun that warms my bones this cold day is my sun,
Or the wind that sweeps my hair into a frenzy is my wind,
Or the ocean that spiritedly spritzes me with salt and sand is my ocean,
This land does not belong to me; rather, I belong to this land,
This belonging, a roughly hewn and sewn garb,
For here have I laughed, longed, loved, lost, lusted, laboured,
Here, on this land, is the only home I have ever known
This land to which I belong never asked me if I have a god,
Where my parents came from; what tongue I spoke, the colours of my ensign,
What I put in my mouth to sate my hunger or what I drank to sate my mind,
It didn’t ask me who I love; nor did it worry about the things I hate
Now you say that this land belongs to you,
A you made up of those who raise these questions,
A you of who'd spill the blood of this land's children upon her,
A ‘you’ that won't let there be an 'us', a 'you' that defines a 'them'
But this land does not belong to you, it is not your land,
And it's only time until you are extradited from the 'you',
By the very lines you are carving into her red-golden-brown-black earth,
By your flesh and blood, your kith and kin, your peculiarities painted onto your skin
And when it's your turn to lay claim to your home,
I bid you remember who threw the first stone,
Who off-ed the heads and broke the backs,
Of all those to whom their home belongs
