Issue 2

Darn of the Embassy

Should I wait for a check, standing in the queue?
My life I project, standing and loving you.
Citizenship, a town full of laughter,
My hands stretched towards the sky…
Are you my freedom, my hope?
This long queue, it bores quickly,
reeks of stinking attitudes,
longing for rice or a bowl of soup
(and wondering where those
charities are).

Did those sponsors come?
Are they here to free us
from hunger?
This long queue hurts, no further it wanders.
But I decide to suppress my energy,
run and not steal.
Pain, pain, being called a foreigner…
I draw my hands towards you and
whisper… Darn, of the Embassy!

My spirit I drew like sword and shield,
chasing after my powers, fighting fear, hearing always
Running here and there to birth the moon
in different departments, tears in the darkness,
(my fighting tears)
singing, “I am a Goddess in disguise – ”
(So many tears, my fellow foreigners cried.)
Help, help, help, I bark to the moon –
Our identities, give
them back or I will charge through
the Embassy to reach my frustration,
in order to reach you.

My blazing fire, I am a Goddess in disguise.
My blazing templates, Fox and Moon,
construing cunning thoughts to get to the head of the queue.
Darn of the Embassy,
“Are we there yet?”
Sealing our hands without laughter,
a silent prayer.
Everybody is quiet, everybody
but me.
I want to sing a song, dance in the rain,
“My citizenship, my citizenship”
congratulate myself, pour out wine,
put my hands on
my beautiful thighs.
But darn of the Embassy, fire and earth –

I get home, then get up early again. Make a
sandwich, scream at everybody,
turn on channels,
dance before the mirror, willing a diode to calm the mind.
Then, I am in the queue once more
turning to hell,
muttering a symphony to myself,
stretching yet again
my hands to the sky,
crying in agony,
That lie, from the deepest,
darkest bowels of the Embassy.

Precious documents,
how precious to deliver.
Fighting so-called heroes
that hold up the heavens.
How can one not see, the impossible
Give us our papers, so we can move on with
our lives.
Give us our papers, so we can stand in our
own pride.
Free us, or we will curse your demise!
Remember the day when I will turn to
thunder, my cross, and tears, burning hail and
To hear fellow foreigners cry,
follow their voices into the darkness
as they sing about freedom.

Do you love me, my documentation?
What can you do for me?
You are just a piece of paper, and I
your worst nightmare,
your enemy in full anger.
As I dance quietly to myself waiting, writing,
stamping closer and closer
to the doorsteps of the Embassy
feeling as though my pretty wings
are about to fly, escape,
from this queue, from an identity to have,
to hate you and scream with
into the deepest darkness.

Has the water gone to your heads?
You smug people in your smart shoes
looking down on us.
Don’t underestimate us, we are beautiful within.
You don’t know, you people staring at
us with hurtful eyes
that I’m writing this to you from
immortality, my permanent residence
where I sit on my beautiful evil throne
with my evil golden dress and my
evil goddess crown.
I imagine the building exploding behind me
with green fire and lightning dust,
Darn of the Embassy!
blowing up, burning,
the country falling,
the singing dances, the refugee chains
broken to ashes.

Freeing ourselves from a bondage nation, with
only a single word in mind.
Freedom of speech, liberation of fear,
pieces of a document, a piece of your love!
The chains of forever, destroyed by fire,
destroyed by approval
in just a single stroke.

Do you believe a foreigner like me can rule the
Conquer the border post without a
care of thought?
I am a Goddess in my golden dress.
See the light in my eyes,
See us freed from our burden,
the sickness lost —
We stand on a green and blue planet, not foreigners,
but fighting just like you,
trying to extend our lives, with digital numbers,
moving our identities past war and peace.
Is it green on the other side?
Are we still children in pink and blue, playing hide and seek?
Will you catch me?
Run we must, xenophobia away,
I wait just for you in order to turn my life around
and walk away from this depression, into my own kingdom.
“Your Highness,” you will call me
and all will bow before me,
singing my name with all glory…
When our beauty arises and conquers,
my green eyes will stare…Darn of the Embassy.

Nathanael Alberto Dos Santos Muanavisi was born in Angola and grew up in South Africa as a refugee. He is a graduate student of General Arts of Business Administration and holds certificates in data analysis, project management and more. His super love for reading and writing was birthed through education, reading fantastic novels about magic and the spirit world, and of course, romance. Trying to seek education as a refugee and a “person of pain” produces strong emotions that he has to navigate daily, but he finds the light of hope in putting pen to paper.