Eat up, they tell me
as they place before me sumptuous dishes
chicken freshly plucked from the frozen section
pre-sliced vegetables cut into exotic salads
garnished with herbs from a packet
and flavours from a bottle
served up on gleaming plates with crystal cutlery
eat up, you need your strength
to go learn how to do this for yourself
to provide your own meals
on gleaming plates with crystal cutlery
please eat up
And it’s all I can do
not to throw back my head
and scream to the high heavens
How can I tell them
that pieces of dry bread are now worth more to me
than all the packaged meats in the city
How can I tell them
that my soul has been set on fire
and all the waters of Babylon
cannot quench it ever again
And how do I tell them
that I am fighting to escape these waters
and I have no desire to wait
until there arises a certain Persian minister
And how this world drains the life out of me
like how a plughole drains the waters in a bath
and I can’t even pray for rain
And how it’s more than I can bear
to live my life tucked away in this cave
eating dates and weeping
and how all the dainty cakes on the shelves have lost their lustre
(I asked that you sustain me in exile with dainty cakes
But I’ve finally become sick of them)
And that large houses without families become ghostly shells,
and life extends beyond the supermarket,
and greatness does not grow freshly wrapped
and how my soul yearns to burst forth from this straitjacket
and there is a life worse than death and a death greater than life
and I have not yet severed the final chains
preventing me from leaping into eternity,
still bound to the clods of this cursed land
of blood, pain and empty castles
a land where prophecy cannot sprout
How can I tell them this
how…
For there is fire inside me
and either I will fashion chariots from it
or it will kill me from the inside out
But don’t give me water
I do not want water
Give me land
Give me earth to stand upon
and wood to build a fire
that I may sit on the ground with friends
and send showers of sparks cascading to heaven
but don’t leave me like this
eating bread of shame three meals a day
wrapped and cocooned in six blankets
as she tries to rock me to sleep
and I vowed not to drown in plastic packaging
but must I swim in it every day?
for such is the curse of exile
And I do not know how long this can last
balanced on a stump of rock
making to collect my daily bread
and fruit, and cake, and chicken
while across the seas, deserts are blooming
hills are rejoicing
life is blossoming
and I am not there…
A great sage once said
“there is no pain worse than that of exile”
He was right.
