There be pain in exile, even <br />if voluntary. <br /> <br /> <br />Yet as in all in the mass universe <br />A percentage of joy <br />however minimal. <br /> <br /> <br />And I scented the air, and that was <br />the gift, the only gift <br />I willed to make for myself. <br /> <br /> <br />and I scanned the air, for those <br />were my friends <br /> <br /> <br />And I beheld the Dawn to the last <br />till her disappearing <br />for that was my new breath <br /> <br /> <br />And warmed my hands in the rays of <br />the rising sun <br /> <br /> <br />the exile emarginated be content with <br />part of the whole! <br /> <br /> <br />even an ever-increasing smallness, <br />fraction, does! <br /> <br /> <br />and in exile there was freedom that I <br />made by escaping chains <br /> <br /> <br />though I suffer as the Jews suffered in <br />Babylon <br /> <br /> <br />yet beneath the stroke of the ferule <br />and the spattering of blood drops <br />and the pain and the groans <br />and the shouts <br />I have come in to my exile, grown and <br />yet to grow in it!<br /><br />Emmanuel George Cefai<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/there-be-pain-in-exile/
