The song from the wall

Here they call me a foreigner. In my homeland, I’m the one who left. Here they mispronounce my name. Back there, they say I’ve changed. Every morning I check the weather here, to know what I should wear. Then I check the weather back home, and I can almost smell what Mom is cooking. I miss the voices that answer me, but I can’t hug them. I watch my parents grow old, on the other side of the glass. We always say, “See you soon,” without knowing when that will be. I crossed borders with my footsteps, but my soul was left behind.