So he waited
So he waited,
Consciously and unconsciously,
Waited for a butterfly to greet him and for his mothers kiss,
So he sat and waited some more,
Nervous and calm,
He waited for a dariwshian poem maybe a beauty to smile upon his face,
So he sat and waited some more, maybe nights who shall say,
He waited for Qais laila’s diagnose, he waited for Laila herself to grant him madness
He sat homeless, eyeless and songless,
Waited with all his patience held tight between his arms and he would cradle it,
He waited with his ignorance held in both hands
He waited and read, he read about waiting and was delighted,
He read about love and felt his aching heart,
So he waited and sang some more
The songs the beetle learned him once,
Sang the song that the ants sang at dawn, and when the sun would reach her highest point he would sing the song of the wingless swans.
So yes he waited,
Maybe for Aphrodite or Isis and her son
Or God? Allah?
He waited as if the messiah would never return and as if the world had forgotten about the twelfth imam
He waited, maybe for his empty veins to fill up once again,
Chocking in his solitude,
Bathing in his memory without remembrance
Soaked in his own poison
So he waited they said
But when I saw him I knew
Why he was and still is waiting.
He waited for his country to come home.
