Beyond Geography And History Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

I send your message to compatriots and foreigners,
Mother, not for the land they artificially cut it off from us -
painfully you say we are all nail and skin with the land -
not for the tears of rain when we left back our houses,
not for our moans when unholy men did dig our tombs.
You stayed alone in our village Trikomo, united with it
like Erechthonios at Erechtheion protecting Acropolis,
and restored the thrown cross as throne over the bones.

Mother, in your letter the ink flows with joy, for that boy
the Turkish-cypriot with whom you formed a village of two,
two canes one dimity that resists the impetus of a torrent,
double-yolk egg of soul, sea and star under a full moon.

Mother, your sole little feat had been a real athlos:
morning he brought herbs, figs, you took care of him,
teaching him tales of Aesop, telling you fares of Nastradin.

You die and fy, though blind you see him with other eyes;
then you blessed him, your hands united in the presence
of God, root and soil in One, bee and flower in One world.

Mother, I send your message to compatriots and foreigners;
the village of Old-Wise is close to that of Olive-Tree.
Mother, look! Refugee Ayse left her home at Larnaca,
now lives in Famagusta, twenty eight years now
is brushing off the photo of the little owner in the hall;
of that Greek-cypriot refugee girl, present at each brushing.

They gave a riffle to poet Fikret, guard in the north side,
one riffle to fellow poet George, guard in the south side.
In vain! Mother, they didn’t shoot bullets to each other,
only shots of verses and of your prayer for a single union,
beyond geography and history, a union of dual cosmos,
deliberating us to love each other, with no limits, no terms.



© JosephJosephides