The Pigeons

I have been a pilgrim
In the land of dreams
Of elusive promised land
Where milk and honey
Gush down the hills
Like the rivers in spring.

I have traveled overseas
And mountains, wondering
Far from the native nest
The land of my ancestors
All now resting in graves
Waiting for the family reunion
In the eve of resurrection.

Now my restive thoughts
Longing and weary
Are flying back far away
To the origins, the abode where
I was born past century.

My thoughts worn-out and lonely
Are like a lost flock
Of traveling pigeons
Which taken away a while ago
From the native cottage
They always dream to return
To that hatching nest.

From volume “Homo Liturgicus”, 2018
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