I sit here, open my laptop 
Look out at the sea
From the terrace of an iconic hotel 
My work venue as a freelancer, a digital nomad
I write, what does that make me?
The titles meander endlessly
Senselessly

This little bit of serenity
This deliberate grasping of nature’s stillness 
Has become a habit now
Preserving my sanity 
My emotional equilibrium if you will
Before I dive into my world of responsibilities 
And regulations that keep changing
Anew with ever more creative indignities

It’s time to reapply for the visa
The one bestowing a residency - some permanency
Is still ephemeral, a dream
So I keep doing my tawaf
Perambulating around the aspiration
Denied to me
Meanwhile I look for other little oft-trodden paths
Like visit visas that are stark
And tie and bind me into a cell
Purgatorial, ‘twixt heaven and hell

I can’t put down roots
I cant roam free
That is for the other folks
The ones with passports
Thin as wafers, pristine
Devoid of stamps and seals
That pull you into parentheses 
An afterthought, you’re one of the horde 
Picked out from discord, erratically
For a while allowed to be
A part of regular humanity 
That throngs its shores 
In NY caps and Bermuda shorts
Dollars and dollars 
Lining their seams
Blissful, unaware of what runs in the veins
Of those who smile and smile and gleam
Who enthrall and beguile
For a while before going back 
To the crumbling shacks
That once were homes
Pulverized by landslides and floods
Now pulled together by mud and stones

How do I know?
Because behind the smile I’ve seen the pain
Heavy and sodden like monsoon rain
Of the tuktuk drivers, the servers, the valets
Whose three-wheelers bear me week after week - ceaselessly
Whose lattes I sip while they look out at the sea - pensively
Who stand there smiling, ready to greet - endlessly
Their eyes have welled 
With tears, with fears; so have mine
I know, I know and I understand
Pariahs all of us in this land
That is meant to be our home
That has since become a tomb.