Isabella A. // BOGOTA

The green mountains reach vast and far.

The clouds above them

dark and grey.

But I hardly ever see it rain.


The smell of pollution guarantees

I am where I am.

To most a sign of environmental destruction,

or simply just a nuisance in the air.

To me a sign of comfort.


We laugh and sing songs.

The same song over and over again.

But the song doesn’t matter.


I run with the others.

Together we are children again,

together we are back home.