Exodus


Some days we feel like a tree that just wouldn’t grow right,

Stunted with roots reaching as far down but barely breaking the earth,

Some days we feel like a stream flowing uphill,

A spectacle to behold yet the struggle against gravity is nothing compared to that against its very nature,

Waking up from brilliant dreams to a reality of both feet cast in concrete,

They say up there holds room for all to fly,

Yet hardly is it mentioned of how uncharacteristic it is of a tree to take flight,

A grounded heart with eyes that look up in wonder,

Wonder of how different it could be,

An inverted existence,

An eagle raised by a hen,

Eyes sore from staring at the sun with a longing heart,

Shackles of green white and green,

A history of the blind leading men with sight,

Men with sight who choose to keep one eye shut,

For fear it sees what the other does,

Afraid that together they may recognize the true state of affairs,

A 56 years old exodus,

In quest for a land of milk and honey whose path was long lost and may never be found.

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