exiles

A poem by Ben White

babylon strains

and i lean with the wind

groaning in pain

cos the labour is

toiling    the    soil    rocky

and the neon lights flash

harder

covered in filth and weeping with

knowing that there's more to love than

30 dollars and a blue strip light

casualties line the way

the exiles who fell

who

crossed

the

river

but

forgot how to sing

babylon stains

and the exile forgets

the homeland

the bus throbbing

the concrete coolness

sirens

sweat and bills

lullaby our senses

until our one certain hope

is another

dream.

but the voice remains

and should you prise off the

gag

the words flood your head and

heart like

final sun rays

or forgiveness

This is not your home.

---

Ben White is a writer and freelance journalist specialising in Palestine/Israel, the Middle East and the 'war on terror'. His articles can be read on www.benwhite.org.uk.