Amreekan Pakistani

I lay on the soft grasssounds of rickshawsthe smell of sweet mangoeslaal dupatta tickling my face.This is my home.The sounds of the subwaythe smell of gyrosand loud New York streetskissing my feet as I walk.This is my home.if only the two mergedif only they weren’t seas apart.Two separate worlds,both callinglonging for me.They’re both my homesthe ones that kiss my headshape me, teach me, welcome me in.Both are my homebut divided with a deep oceanwith ignorance, with politics.Sometimes I wear a kurtawith jeanssomehow creating a world within mewhere both live perfectly in harmony.Other times I am forced to chose between the two.Which one do I belong to more?Sometimes I have to hide the PakistaniIn order to not be criminalizedto not be seen as other.Sometimes I have to hide the Americanto show I too understand,to show I’m not whitewashedand sometimes I just wish it wasn’t so complicated.