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Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned…
Here is the infamous [city] gate,
the one of the olive branch and the sword,
for those who leave, it is so closed
and for those who enter, so open.
If in you peace is exiled
you cannot offer that…
Farewell, farewell,
Tomorrow I depart.
I’ve sewn myself a pack
And had my hair cut off.
I’ve got myself a belt
That’s tethered to my chains,
Said good-bye to all my neighbors
Through the wall that…
Foreign to me are trees in bloom
And grass and air and sky
What storms have banished me
From Eden
What blazing fire from the sun
Your wind won’t dry these tears
Land of exile
Your rain won’t…
On the roads of Siberia
Someone may still uncover a button, a lace
Of my torn shoe,
A leather belt, a shard of a clay mug,
A page of the holy book.
On the rivers of Siberia
Someone may still…
Oh, Father of great mercy
In sunset’s flame there fades
My cradle land
That was once nearer to me than my salt-crusted shirt
Where with my brother Russian
I shared more than once
A measly bite of…
Wind bells over the river with an
Indian name: transplanted homelessness
disguised as a transplanted home.
The garden jingles. Odorous sandalwood censers,
kimonos and saris flashing well among
the…