It is an (attempted) poetry

One day you will wake up to find
The maps of your heart have fallen out of date;
While your back was turned walls crumbled, borders shifted.
Unknown territories declared their independence.

In those days you'll fumble for words to ask directions
Stumble down wrong-way streets,
Stare at the compass of your shadow.
In those days you'll wonder whether this is exile or home.

You'll find it when you're lost and foot-weary --
The girl roasting sweet potatoes, the boy selling baskets of flowers.
Yes.
This is what you smelled long ago, when you leaned your body into the spring air,
And caught the scent of revolution on the wind.