Before Autumn, We Will Return\ The Land of the Sad Orange

I am not a refugee,

But I wish I were.

For we are all in this together;

One hand; one power.

For the love of the country,

And in the name of the land,

I wrote this poem because we shall go back.

And each to where they belong

Each, again, shall return.

The Land of The Sad Orange by Ghassan Kanafani inspired me to write this poem:

 

 

 

We left on a windy night

Bombs, yet, were shining bright.

We were either almost hit,

We were almost blinded.

Mothers holding their babies and others’ real tight;

Men were motionless; Barely against the wind would fight.

The waves, the tears of the sky, the roughness,

The gesture.

Everything was falling:

The houses,

The children,

The wives,

The oranges.

We had to keep on walking;

We had to keep on moving;

We had to say farewell.

We thought, we thought…

I recall:

“We will come back, son!

Before the leaves fall,

We will come back.”

The whispers of my old man;

Mine, again, to my son.

The leaves fell,

The trees cut,

The house destroyed.

Ache in my stomach,

Ache in my heart,

Ache in every single bone,

Ache with every single breath,

Ache until I can speak no more.

Ache until I can think no more.

Ache until I lose control.

Ache until

I

F

A

L

L

I look at the house,

I look at the playground,

I look at the memories,

And I can’t wave goodbye!

My hands glued to the ground;

Ache brings me down.

I am pulled by one of the mothers;

I am thrown to one of the buses;

I am called;

I hear my mother’s trembling voice.

“I am here, I am not lost”

The wind covers my whispering of ache screams.

We ride; we ride on.

The house fades,

The memories are stolen,

I am kept with nothing but my mother’s mourn.

“We left to return.”

I kept saying “we left to return.”

We left, but, now, where is home?

We left and the families most of them are lost;

We left knowing one day we will melt the frost,

Build a new playground.

We are, here, remembering home:

The stolen memories of a grandfather retrieved,

The mothers’ tears dried,

The only thing left,

For us now,

Is to go home

And rest;

Go home and clean the dust;

Go home and plant a tree;

Go home and collect the leaves.

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3 thoughts on “Before Autumn, We Will Return\ The Land of the Sad Orange

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