Expatriate Hymns

                              To Alan.
Each soul has its divine missions.
Sometimes, it’s an insane insider
preaching the superiority of treason
to wannabe pioneers 
who never fail
to repent their uncommitted sins
in solitary confinement.
Some other times -
an intruder on elusive ecstasy,
An altered ego,
Previously dishonored by all five senses,
Drifting away wave after wave, 
ocean after ocean,
Dismissing the self-proclaimed gods,
in search of comforting faith
to make up for up-coming hazards.
Metaphorically conditioned only by contrasts’ zeal,
Untroubled by the mortality of denials,
I’m living one anxiety-free epiphany after another:
Despite your daily ordeals and paradox quests,
A poet of noble betrayals
Will not be seduced
by the refined ways of the flesh,
their enduring intensities of withdrawal,
the invisible chords of a perfect balance
and obvious lack of innate grace.
Now and then, a celebrated revival
-          unchained by surrender    -
turns a new leaf while sharing an old sermon on hope.
Sorry about the cold dissolving the horizon,
It’s been an inhumane break-up for both.
Those born a long way from home
Blame their guilt on the almost deported,
Those dying too innocent
Underestimated the value of prayer.
Un- blinded by grief
We can still witness a re-birth.

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