My country is handed over from one tyrant to the next, <br />a worse tyrant; from one prison to another, <br />from one exile to another. <br />It is colonised by the observed <br />invader and the hidden one; <br />handed over by one beast to two <br />like an emaciated camel. <br />In the caverns of its death <br />my country neither dies <br />nor recovers. It digs <br />in the muted graves looking <br />for its pure origins <br />for its springtime promise <br />that slept behind its eyes <br />for the dream that will come <br />for the phantom that hid. <br />It moves from one overwhelming <br />night to a darker night. <br />My country grieves <br />in its own boundaries <br />and in other people's land <br />and even on its own soil <br />suffers the alienation <br />of exile.<br /><br />Abdullah Al-Baradouni<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-exile-to-exile/
