THE EXILE’S RETURN
He’s now the ruler of the country which once exiled him,
He’s not a king or the king’s minister, he just does
what he wants,
watching from the window the crowds of the deluded
roam the streets,
himself wise and handsome since he’s free of purpose.
Yes, now he’s like a child and also like a tomb.
At times, it seems to him, that beside two hands
he has wings.
But he won’t fly. He knows it’s enough to feel that, like the sea
which feels almighty and still doesn’t
go about rearranging the continents.
The greatest adventure is a flower in a glass of water.
With extraordinary energy he has concentrated all his
faith into it.
Now, deeply just, he leans over, waiting to wither,
serenely, the way ashes fall from a cigarette.
