“The Exit That Isn't There”
I packed my dreams in a weathered bag,
With silence stitched where hope would sag.
Germany grays beneath my feet,
Yet every path I find—repeat.
They write me letters bold and bright,
“You're chosen!“—glitter veils the night.
Dubai, Qatar, a golden shore,
But each one fades—a locked front door.
The names are grand, the logos clean,
Yet none are real, they're built on screen.
Their promises, like desert wind,
Blow through my hands and leave me pinned.
I want to go, to breathe new air,
To lose this cold, electric glare.
But frauds and shadows block my flight,
A thousand lies that steal my right.
I’m not asking for paradise,
Just work that’s true, a fairer price.
But in a land that never knew
How dreams can rot when they're not true.
Still I go on, my will intact,
Though every offer leaves me cracked.
One real voice—I'll wait, I'll see—
To call me home, away, set free.