Singing in strange lands, pulses shifting,
The scent of rain, sap, skin a little different,
Our tongues learn new lilting, fresh refrains,
How can we sing our songs in these lands?
Measures merging; paces, tastes, vibrations,
Words echo divergent across mountains,
Hollows, oceans, villas, high rise elevations,
The reverberations change, some even forget
And yet, certain notes and phrases remain
Outside and within skin, intoning epithet,
Makeshift life born of a grain, one, one, one.

Antonia Sara Zenkevitch