Am I wanted or Not

With a cup of Mexican coffee
I have no petals to count
(like I would with a daisy)
Still, I ponder:
Am I wanted, Am I wanted not
by that country

By that country I have fallen in love with
like with a film star
(platonic love, god knows what it's really like)
which plays on my heart like on a string instrument
but at the same time
wears a hostile grin
when I reach out
(getting there seems like climbing a Mayan pyramid)

With a cup of Mexican coffee
I tear off butterflies' wings instead of petals
(it hurts me as if I was them)
I feel unwanted by that country
pushed angrily away
with the only harbor I have there
an island flooded by wild waves
The mysterious island with an unusual name
Argel