On a Refugee Wind
By Micaela Kaibni Raen
(Excerpt from a longer written work.)
Jerusalem
lights set to fall
as
the Imam’s call dances as desert dust in the wind’s effulgence.
He
stands
motioning
of the breath’s breeze
as
the wind runs through his chest.
Standing
steadfast in his life of courage
a
courage risen in fear
like
a skin pulled and stretched with an elasticity tight
filled
with resistance, rebellion and faith.
Guarding
vigilantly
he
remembers the cries as they had come from those he held
those he caressed before death
holding onto feeble breath
in the shadows of night.
His
arms,
thick
branches,
reach,
holding the face of a scream
as
his leafy fingers hold the cheeks
around the open-lipped mouth that would not mute of
blood.
His
soul prays
in
ancient verse
we
have forgotten
but
the land remembers…
he knows that your home remembers you
it cries with your blood’s
pouring
rages with your leaving in
the brown-smogged sky
yearns for reparation,
repatriation and return.
His
toes curl
rooting
into the soil
molding
into his leathered sandals
holding
onto the shadows of night’s beginning.
His
faith transcends
the
perched sniper’s aim
and
his song flies as hope upon breath
through
his chest
carried
East to Jerusalem’s prayers
as
a song unheard
on
a refugee wind.