Thursday, April 16, 2009

by the rivers of Babylon

The heart hungry for its homeland
Knows a sorrow
That no friend can lift or new delight can stifle.

There are scars still from the imprint
Of the landscapes
And the faces of the loved ones left forever.

When he thinks that he's forgotten
Then he smells it
Or he tastes it, and his mem'ry takes him captive.

Or he sees his old harp hanging
And is fearful
That his right hand has forgot the songs of Zion.

The heart hungry for its homeland
Casts a shadow
And its darkness shows the waiting light of heaven.

1 comment:

Jack said...

Now that's a beautiful bit of writing.