Poem Lynn - To be stateless means
To be stateless means
your name is a ghost in a limbo
A whisper in the Bureaucracy
To be stateless means
your nationality is written in parentheses
On paper that says:
you don’t exist, or maybe “XXX”
I am a child born between borders,
a child with no home in ink,
no country in stamp
no “where are you from”
that fits on a form
To be stateless means
you taste freedom for a moment,
A plane might lift you,
A visa might open -
only ti have it yanked away.
You are denied in the continuity of breathing,
your breath is questioned.
Who are you?
From where?
Do you belong?
My mother used to whisper
“Hold your breath until we pass”
The borders… Maybe?
I learned early that even air could be a privilege
I have carried the silence of waiting rooms
letters that never arrive
dreams that always need proof
They say “be patient”
But patience has never been a country
that would let me in.
I have felt anger like fire
in my throat
Rising
Burning
Bitterness in my bones
for every door closed,
every line refused
everytime I was told:
wait.
I have been less than legal,
less than visible,
less than enough.
They taught me to apologise
for existing in a system
that was never built for me.
I have been polite
smiled through paperwork,
swallowed my accent,
learned the language of “lagom”
(The in-between) -
Not too loud
not too silent
Measure your words
your posture
your longing
Not too angry,
not too visible.
Just enough to be tolerated
just enough not to frighten.
But I am more.
I am more than the gap in your paperwork.
I am more than your invisible clause.
I am more than your “come back tomorrow”
where tomorrow becomes months and years.
To be stateless means
I have known emptiness.
The hollow places inside me
echoing “you belong now”
To be stateless means
I carry rootless soil in my veins
seeds that may sprout
even if not in one land.
I have known shame
I have known guilt
for wanting to belong
wanting to rest
for wanting ease -
A luxury denied.
But…
I have known my voice
My voice is loud
My voice is rising
My roots spread in stories
in voices
in hands that reach across borders.
My body holds memory.
My heart spreaks of maps.
And…
I will plant flags in my own flesh
Here’s my claim
Here’s my name
Here’s my story -
carved not in paper
but in resistance.
to be stateless means
I was once unmooled
But i refuse to stay adrift
I will build bridges with my voice
calling out every “less”:
worthless… I became worth
faceless… I became all of us
rootless… I became trees, then forest
shoreless… I carried entire oceans in me
faceless… we became all of you
let those “less” words ring - but let more shout back:
I am no longer a state of less
I am a state full
with memory
with yearning
with community
with dreams
So here’s what I ask you in those 15 minutes:
Don’t let us disappear
as you talk law and policy
Don’t let me be a case-study
in your agenda
see us
hear us
I stand here
not as a void
but as a voice
a presence
an invitation
so work with me
let this gathering begin with truth
so that what follows is rooted in humanity
And if tomorrow
We still wait for recognition -
we will keep speaking
we will keep naming
i will keep planting flags in our voices
until everyone knows:
To be stateless is not the end…
Because in this community
we create beginnings.
