Unsuitable for song as well as sense <br />the island flowers into slums <br />and skyscrapers, reflecting <br />precisely the growth of my mind. <br />I am here to find my way in it. <br />Sometimes I cry for help <br />But mostly keep my own counsel. <br />I hear distorted echoes <br />Of my own ambigious voice <br />and of dragons claiming to be human. <br /> Bright and tempting breezes <br />Flow across the island, <br />Separating past from the future; <br />Then the air is still again <br />As I sleep the fragrance of ignorance. <br />How delight the soul with absolute <br />sense of salvation, how <br />hold to a single willed direction? <br />I cannot leave the island, <br />I was born here and belong. <br />Even now a host of miracles <br />hurries me a daily business, <br />minding the ways of the island <br />as a good native should, <br />taking calm and clamour in my stride.<br /><br />Nissim Ezekiel<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/island-12/
