The Europeans shouldn’t be allowed to go to space,
they’d bring their borders with them,
paint lines on Saturn’s rings,
stamp passports on the Moon,
and rename every star after some dead king.
They’d turn galaxies into gated communities,
sell Mars in square meters,
and make you show an ID
before you can watch a sunrise over Jupiter.
Space should be for the exiled,
the nameless,
the ones this world refused to hold.
Let the stars belong to those
who have never been allowed to own even the ground beneath their feet.
The Europeans should stand firmly on planet Earth,
anchored to the soil they’ve divided a thousand times,
while I float through space—
weightless, borderless,
untethered from their flags and cages.
I should be in space,
not trapped in these 200-some countries,
each one another cage with a different flag.
I suffer in their maps and laws,
while the sky above me
is already free.
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