At Home, Waiting
I
She said:
Why a sail of fortune
Takes many months and many years?
What a hundred folds of profit cannot give
Is the presence of a loved one
To which he replied:
Noble spices lie across
A vast, endless ocean
Away from home
Longing for you
I shall have bitter sleep
for years ahead
She refused to be kissed:
To trade and cultivate
A scale, a plow, might suffice
Wherefore soldiers and guns
In the affair of a tradesman’s sail?
He feared he will not return:
It is afternoon and the sky is dark
She feared it was farewell:
Strong winds on the harbor
I keep your name in my prayer
II
She prepared his ration:
I do not expect new days
To bring changes and hopes
It is enough for a farmer
To be content with enough sun
To be content with enough rain
It is the same every year
The changing of the seasons
Has no end
He did not say anything
She prepared his spear:
A farmer’s virtue lies
On his compassion to his field
Those seeds, he sows
Those crops, he tends
And when it’s time
He harvests
It is the same every year
The changing of seasons
Has no end
Still, he did not say anything
She prepared his shield:
A farmer’s happiness
Is to be found in working
Is to be found in waiting
It is the same every year
The changing of seasons
Has no end
He put his hand
on her shoulder
She kissed it
And put her cheek on it
He finally said:
A strong wind blows eastward
A farmer is still a vassal to his lord
To his master’s wish, such a farmer yielded
And it is so I heard
that into the wood he disappeared
Thus, she:
Should you follow?
Thus, he:
Yes, I should
Before she knew it
He has also gone into the wood
She took his plow and hat
And went instead to tend the field
Berlin, 24 November 2019
#poetry