They dream of Europe,
from deserts, mountains, crowded streets,
a land of glass towers,
a passport stamped with hope.
But those of us
born under Europe’s grey sky,
know the other face:
cold hands,
closed doors,
a silence that eats the soul.
To them, Europe is a destination.
To us, it is a cage.
So they run toward it,
while we plot our escape —
two rivers crossing,
never drinking the same water.