Obama has a strange name they sayBut then so do IStrange for here but not for thereStranger and stranger as the world becomesFreer and freer, no frontiersDepending for whomDepending for where.Travellers we are all: nomads in this worldThat keeps contracting and stillStrangers remain strangers and worseForeignors remain strangers onShores that remain devoid of warmth.What is foreign? Coming from which shoresAnd arriving where? Are foreignors strange becauseThey have strange names Or they act strange? A strange kind of modernity dictatesThat everyone looks and speaks alikeDevoid of accent, devoid of strange wordsThat's how it is and now Obama with his strange nameAnd mine with mine: we have associations to the pastTo some far-off land; stranger I am stillMy hair, like Obama's, says where I come from.My eyes, like Obama's, say where I come from.My skin, like Obama's speaks louder than words.I am the sum of all that came before.My strangeness is just that: I brought a slice of the world with me when I came.Copyright: Rani Turton
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