Familiar Land
Sheep poo, a forgotten shoe The happy chatter of the herders who Stand turbaned and tall Guiding flocks by stick, by call, Through the rocks Many feet have trodden this path Which doesn’t keep to any set way But rather spans the bouldered flat As the bracken allows, this way and that It is not the look of its homeland as thought The urban sprawl, the majestic fort, The jungle wall, nor the slum-life taught It is not ruins, not caves, nor tumbling waves No figures bent low in agrarian haze It is instead a reminder of home Of the lakes without water but similar stone Birds flying high midst expansive blue, And below, familiar greens pushing through Not soil but sand, painting the land It is then more a cousin's brother Or less in tune, a secret lover, Than what before was exotic and other
