When I do not understand
a language, I listen to voices.
read faces. feel sounds
dancing on thin air.
I live in fragments. call me visitor
vagabond. wanderer. child
at the wrong house. Where I am
is where I’m supposed to be.
I am a seeker who finds
but also loses. My voice is an echo
from a distant world
I carry it like a shield
tone color against morning grey.
(c) Leen Raats
A poem I wrote a couple of years ago. It was planned to be published in a UK Literary Magazine in 2023 – they even paid me for it – but I never heard from them again, their web site is offline, and I believe the magazine is now defunct.
Leen writes 
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