Foreigner

I'm Kashmiri. 

I understand the language but don't speak it 
Which sometimes makes me feel like a fraud. 

But when I visit Kashmir 
There's this warm feeling inside my chest 
That blossoms slowly, like my smile 
It takes time to form. 

It's a different feeling from home home,
My house in America,
Which is also beautiful.

Because this feeling's unique.

When I'm in Kashmir,
I feel loved.
Nobody is banging red, white and blue drums at me 
On the way to the mosque
And telling me to go back to my country.
And pretty much everyone I see on the street
Looks just like me.

I look like them.
I eat the food.
I love the food!
But I avoid conversation.

I feel like a kind of observer.

But that's fine.

For me,
Kashmir will always be
A place to remind me of where I come from
And that there are people that love me.
And that makes me feel just about as Kashmiri
As I actually am.