To the Promised Land

Sit on my shoulders
Do not look down
The mud that now dirties my shalwar
It used to be mine
I lived here
I grew up here
I belonged here
The banyan tree that sought me out for stories
Has fallen asleep
has closed its eyes, maybe

Sit on my shoulders
Do not look down
We pass by the trenches
The bodies that hugged us
Now cold- are about to be buried or burnt
Some ignored
How many to be sent to heaven
The countless bodies
All known and yet unknown
A mother is casting her eyes on her child
For one last time
Searing the memory in her heart.

My shawl is slipping from my shoulders
Do not tell me when it falls
It belongs here
Do not look down

Close your eyes
If possible close your ears
Close your self
From everything around you
The cries that you hear
The smoke that you smell
The cartwheels that trudge along the familiar trees
The trains that everyone is scrambling towards
Are no proof of the heartache that resides in each of us
A common pathosis we all suffer from.

Let me walk as long as I can
I will carry you away from all of this
To the Promised Land

The walk continues
The geography changes
The heartache remains
Follows them
The father sees, hears
The daughter unseen and unheard
Hidden beneath a shawl
Nothing has changed
The promise was a lie.