Exile
by Avital Bar-Kochva
A fruit fallen far away from the tree
As I am without my country.
Like a son without a mother's cradle
Like I am without my land.
Like a young maiden yearns for her sweetheart
I crave to see the hills of home.
With the passion of an eternal flame
I pray to step foot on its soil.
A boat amongst the ocean waves
As I ache to see my island.
Like a soldier in an alien place
My thoughts, clouded with illusions
Like a wounded man, awaiting his death,
Do I await the redemption.
Pomegranate without its mother branch -
So I am in this exile.
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