I sit here waiting.
In a country
that I have
and will forever live in.
I live in an escapist fantasy.
Waiting for a certain time.
A time to start a change
in this country I will die in.
Yet as the age for change approaches,
it only feels like another fantasy.
In this country that isn't mine,
this country I was born in,
I reside.
And I give it a new name.
It is almost like a new country,
but in name only.
The workings of the country remain,
and I feel more free to think.
But the country has not changed.
This country repulses me,
that is my thought,
but maybe that will change
when that mythical age comes
and this country has changed.