they build a 'Kingdom of Walls'
first to separate us from our roots
and then
to separate the roots.
In our diaspora
the concrete of a living memory is cracked.
They plant weeds of amnesia in the cold cracks
to suffocate our roots...
And our roots cry
And our roots rot in the dampness of their tears
And then our roots
are no more...
Our nostalgia climbs
these concrete walls
and the journey
knows no end...
We anticipate
exhale
reach again...
And they butcher
our fingers
at the walls' frostbitten edges...
In our diaspora
we are fingerless.
We cannot count
the reasons
why we are here,
we cannot count
the number
of walls that have spawned
since our arrival.
Our roots have ghosts
that visit this 'Kingdom of Walls'.
They stand
surrounded
groundless
each with a story
looming as large
as doomsday
when finally
'Kingdom Come'...
Note: On the walls of separation created by occupation here and at home...
