Friday, 20 February 2015

Exile’s Ode

An exile in the desert of this world, the soul ponders her state in heartfelt prayer to her God; recognising through faith that even now in this sandy wasteland, she dwells in and tastes the Promised Land of her desire.

Withdrawn from mother’s breast;

Forsaken father’s house.

Left nets by the shore;

Untouched spoils of war.

Onward bound through desert;

Feet as ploughs keep ploughing.

Can’t see ash and sack;

No time to look back.

Cloud by day leads me on;

Flame-pillar whispers way.

Strings of harp sing praise;

Thirst grows with the days.

Egypt’s onion’s echo;

Moist mem’ry of Nile taunts.

Jackals at night laugh;

Thy Will is my staff.

Tears are my daily bread;

My daily drink as well.

Flocks seem to vanish;

On tab'e there's meat dish.

In shade I’d like to sleep;

Forty-years am awake.

Breasts of Promised Land;

Dwelling unlike sand.

Net to haul doth remain;

Trophies won to be shared.

Manna’s my honey;

Seas my milk runny.


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