Thursday, June 21, 2007

Rise and Return

They will tell me nothing of my origin
A sin, they say, that must never be repeated
I emerged from some obscure country
On some dark continent. I am an exhibition
I should charge for admission

The fog gathers and all the profanities
Directed at me reassemble themselves
In my mind relentlessly. It resembles
A kind of constant aerial bombardment
Insults issued in jest, they say

In dreams under cover of darkness
Guided by the yellow moon, I crawl
Slowly across the map of the world
To that once magical place that is the land
Of my birth and I unearth an elaborate
History that, until now, was hidden from me.

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