After the wetness of the rain,
on open prairies, lush and green;
after the endless waves of sand
in the glare of a desert sun;
after the lashing of the wind
atop the foggy mountain peaks;
after the broad-leaved trees become
deciduous with rose and amber
bathing as the day’s knell is tolled –
this is who I am in the end:

An applicant who has too often failed
to get into the human club
for refusing to be a cannibal;
a global citizen,
a refugee, imprisoned
in his own motherland!

.


 

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4 thoughts on “Sonnet 275

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