Out Of Exile

Out of Exile

Scrimping, saving, a life confined by debt,
walls closing in, nearer and nearer
until it looked like they'd disappear
and the sky would open up over a street
somewhere in the depths of the city.
And there on the floor a letter, misplaced
for weeks amongst the bills, whilst
not being red was never read.

Cowering in the corner, hands on head
to protect from the insistent knock,
surges of days hidden in cargos
in trucks, on boats, in cars, hunger
biting through the stench of oil.
And then the day when he understood
that regime change (his side won)
meant he could go home a leader.

Watching from the sky, tracing
along the thin dusty roads, magnetic
memories of a dangerous departure,
aware that now the enemy was leaving
along the same routes he had taken
to hide.
And he would open wide the doors
dressed in the appropriate uniform
and greet those who had waited for him.