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Far From Home, a poem by Teuta Skenderi
By Teuta Skenderi |
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Performer , writer, and translator of several Balkan languages. |
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Jun 3, 2007 - 1:46:29 PM |
 Far from home
I whisper my father's name
once, twice
I close my eyes
I know he is in his rose garden
gardening, humming an old song
he's heard on the radio once.
My mother is baking bread
She is smiling
I know she is
everytime she thinks of me.
They live twice as long as me
for their days are longer
down there in the beautiful South.
My old piano is silent
my books covered in dust
my friends have moved North
where days are short
and memories suppressed, postponed
and put on hold for some other (rainy) day...
If I could have an open window
where I can lean from
and see my South everytime I want to
see the sunsets
see the rainbows
hear the children play on the dusty streets
see my little nephew the moment he opens his eyes
and reaches out for his mother's breast...
See my father
walking down the stone paved streets
tall and proud and silent...
If only...
Far from home I drown
in the beautiful pools of my daughter's eyes
blue-green, mysterious
like the Sea of my South
"Tell me the story again!"- she says
If only...
© Copyright 2007 the author, otherwise PS-Magazine.Com
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