Borders

My old life, my land, taken from me,
boundaries controlled by others.
Never again to see my home,
my olive groves, life torn apart
by your man-made borders,
forced through bribery,
dishonesty and war.

Guns patrol, government control.
A war never ending and
my life in shreds, pushed to the edge
of my limits.
No more I will smell the air of home,
my grandmother’s orange groves,
that citrus quench from fresh-made juice –
a child’s thirst for more.

A different life, empty, on the other side
of the green line.
Divided by barbs and uniforms,
lost, out of the zone,
living in hope, one day I may return,
close my eyes, smell the harvest-heavy air,
hear the wind rustle through the groves,
home,
not far, but not there.

© Adele Duffield 2018