Eastern Lover

I listen to the East and become unsettled.
A sad ire overtakes me. The wide black eyes
of Eastern women become home and exile.

I dig deep into the past, a time when we held
onto our struggles, rose to the challenge.
Back then shepherds carried bread and flutes,

literature censured false promises,
and idealists were the only warriors.
For the migrated birds, nostalgia is an escape.

I choose to be hopeful and listen to music
in my backroads travels. I dream of reinventing self,
befriend lovers and sunbath in secluded backyards

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