The streets,

full of people rushing to and fro.

Stepping on the paved concrete,

wearing it out slowly,

like nothing.

Night spreads through,

covering everything,

like a blanket.

The wind breezes past

50% Polish, 50% Russian 

I thought.

It all changed in Rehovot.

I flipped through the book.

The dining table crowded with voices.

“Tracing our roots” He said

Turning the page.

The faces of those like me 

Pakistan and America 

Eastern and western

but they feel like the north and south poles

I’m immersed in the red silk dresses embroidered by hand and I’m in love with the ability to roam alone across this land

Unsure.

About the question, or the world?

Unsure whether to answer truthfully, or to fabricate a more intriguing narrative.

Unsure what the question implies: Fears,

(Spiders, bad grades, falling out of love)