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Exile

Like a tree,
Its top, rich and dense,
Its roots though,
            grounded in shifting sands,

Roaming the fragile surface of a bubble,
Looking from the outside,
Seeing me out there,
Drifting on a dusty stretch,
           parched,
In an endless hazy wasteland,
Surrounded by lurking vultures,
Scorched by the sun,
             in search of a shaded sanctuary.

In the dark hours of solitude,
I see flashes;
         haunting images,
Of fragrant, hot,
          moist summer nights,
A gentle salty sea breeze,
Daffodils in the spring,
A few friendly faces,
           together…
Sipping wine,
           in midnight-street-cafes.

Having left you,
To graze in foreign pastures,
Living on this side of darkness,
Immersed in daily toils,
Walking down the streets and avenues
            of an abrasive urban labyrinth.

Crushed under the yoke,
             of a bag filled with longing,
Dreaming of that soft glow from the other side,
             a child’s dream of a place that never was…

Michael Even

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אנו פותחים את המדור – “במת אורחים” באתר “מילים” בשיר פרי עטו  של מיכאל אבן, ישראלי המתגורר בארה”ב – ששלח לנו את שירו : Exile.

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