The Exile Poem by Isam Hussain

In a land not his own
he finds a place to sojourn
until the green shoots of freedom
sprout in the land he calls home.

His land is made thorny, arid,
by the searing winds of oppression.
He prays that the heavens would yield
and send forth its rain of liberation.

But the years slowly come and go,
the searing winds continue to blow,
hopes wax and wane,
the exile waits in vain.

The youth is now old and grey.
Will he ever see the day
when heaven pours down
its cool sweet rain?