For The Country I Love

Poem By Jennifer Strubel

I fell in love with a country once.
An entire land mass embodied by a single face.
His face, it enchanted me.
Passions full, so much to go around.
And he was eager to share it – but it’s okay now.
For you were never really mine.
It crushed me, the idea of it all.
How stupid to seek comfort
in that glorious country (I love you still) .
So quick to break my heart, you were.
Into a million pieces I fell on your soil,
my tears drowning in dirt.
Unwanted seeds desperately trying to sprout.
But my roots were never deep enough to hold.
Ripped away I was,
like an adopted infant from her birth mothers’ bosom.
No choice but to let go.
Sent to that place so dark,
my bitter reality,
alone,
stripped of sensibility.
For the sake of God, let me come back!
At the top of my lungs…I love you.
You’re the love of my life.
But my screams fall deaf on your foreign ears.
So I ran, I run, distances far.
A sacrifice so blind, for the country I love.

Comments about For The Country I Love

This was a very emotional read...sort of a heavy breathing poem...in a good way. I like when a poem does that for me. I always like the interesting run forward an run back lines you have at stages...that adds to the frantic and confused emotional pace...all in all...really nice work.


5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of STRUBEL

Big Girl Pants

What have I done…
Why is this so?
Misery chases me, or is it me who embraces it?
I´m not a believer of karma, nor faith, or people

In An Instant Of Time

In an instant of time, he comes to mind like this metamorphosis never was.
It was, in fact,
an uninterrupted taste of utopia – that fragment of my life span.
Long ago, still ripe in my mind and my heart –

Forget Me Not

I dream of sunny meadows,
where by my side she´s near.
Her eyes so blue they pale the sun,
watch me skip through dry grasses.

Grip

Tick tock the pendulum churns,
mocking the monotony -
which remains a secret to the one I yearn.
Or pretend to yearn for, as I play house.

I Hate Good-Byes

Foreign body heat,
constricting my chest.
Unknown hands upon my back.
a gentile pat – feels like a caress.

I´ve Never Tried Yoga

On a cold stage, a pile of people before me,
I wonder what the hell I am doing there.
I know that one, the one with the wet curls,
sweating like always.