A foreign land

I was not meant to be here,
In this beautiful land,
When I had a beautiful land of my own,
It was not by my choice or hand.
Yet here I am,
Wanderin' and wonderin'
Not useing my potential,
Mind storms and thunderin'.
Though this land is fair for some,
Its a stolen land, like mine and dyin',
By an imperialist power past,
the indigeonis inhabitants still cryin'.
Their blood diluted, changed,
Still are the elders, tears they weep,
their people defeated, confined,
To the bottom of the heap.
How can I then make my mark,
In this beautiful land of grace,
Knowing this and knowing this,
It is not my place.