Stranger At Home Poem by Taher Shemaly

staying up at night
a cheek at hand
and a hand on pen
trying to get that might
which comes and goes
thinking it would be a sin

is it true or just a false dream
I'm alive but nothing like this
a dead body walking down the street
with every sun coming with a beam
yet it is night and I wouldn't know
just like a blind lost sight by complete

and it is a stranger at home
living with the dead
dying with every thought
and it is a foreigner expelled away
yet near his loves
his drops of tears never been bought
and yet it is childish adult
yes he is, and he will ever be
because his childhood never been sought

is it home, where I must have a hope
of greenish land and morrows
of passion and everlasting smiles
is it home, where I must have seen
the kids never cry nor stop to dream
and the rainbow never shades or cries

but it comes in many ways to me
like an Israelite out of Egypt
or like a believer in hide to be
thus the black birds nested upon me
the threads of sadness with their smiles
or so it would seem to be for me

and it is a stranger at home
living with the dead
dying with every thought
and it is a foreigner expelled away
yet near his loves
his drops of tears never been bought
and yet it is childish adult
yes he is, and he will ever be
because his childhood never been sought

yes, a stranger at home dwelling alone
in case you don't know me
no one actually did before
look to the sun just when it's gone
these what I used to call my dreams
and that's how they seemed, long days before

and it is a stranger at home
living with the dead
dying with every thought
and it is a foreigner expelled away
yet near his loves
his drops of tears never been bought
and yet it is childish adult
yes he is, and he will ever be
because his childhood never been sought