Just a seed planted
in the homeland of the heart,
Uprooted by the
Ancients & told we must depart,
Taken out &
put away, while making life-long plans,
Left seeking &
searching, for my own embracing lands.
Far-shifted by hot
desert winds & by the hand of man,
Whispered to the
sandy banks, where African rivers ran,
Slipping through
grainy fingers, of earth´s eternal nations,
Through lost
childhood days, onto youthful expectations.
Woven through soft
ancient skeins, of silken gossamer times,
Drifting restless
through shifting sands, each grain blindly shines,
Through skies
& over oceans, of cracked blues, greens & greys,
To where the world
sadly ends & the errant sinner sighs & prays.
Along the curly
vines of days, where time goes by, slowly creeping,
Over tombs of
endless nights, where old widows go softly weeping,
Tracing veins upon
old maps, of sepia pages now dead & fruitless,
Tendrils seeking &
go hunting, the land of the long-lost & rootless.
Searching for my homeland,
not here, not there & not anywhere,
And finding only
facial furrows & sorry snow capped winter hair,
Standing on the brink
of madness, I heed the voice I want to hear,
“Search no more for
home my child, your roots are already here”.
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