2:45 pm: In a / train on 99th / Beverly hills
[8:45 pm in my country outside my body].
A man with skin color I cannot name speaks
In a language that’s not mine;
“good morning son, / what’s your name?”.
I beckon with my burnt hands.
I do not say / a word. I do not tell / him I too I’m nameless
Just like the color of his peels.
I cannot speak his
Language. This body is mine but I swear do not
Know this abode. It’s a / place inside my body,
Deep inside my spine;
A mapless / country- cities. Honking cars.
Libraries. Cathedrals. A building
That reads, ‘Greystone Mansion’.

Dacious Kasoka is a poet based in Lusaka Zambia.