By A. Bissas
The ground was dry.
The turf was hot.
Burning, blinding sun,
Earth and Sun were one.
Land and throats were parched.
Weathered, tired, restless,
We run or hugged the rocks.
Leaving, living traces
On sticky, sweat drenched dust.
The land’s thirst was not quenched.
Hot blood irrigated dry fields.
Thunder, lightning followed flowing drops.
Streaming red rivers’ springs.
The land drank, was now damp.
Took destiny into our hands;
Did not desert, but confronted death;
Plowed, scratched to mold future paths,
Becoming sacrificial lambs,
We made a new green promised land.
Rugged outlines long gone,
Fresh-dug graves of yesteryears,
Faint traces remaining in my mind,
The final togetherness has come.
My land and I have once more become one.
