The Man (Working Draft)

Did he smile when he heard the roar?
or when he felt the faintest breeze?
Did he mount the dunes on all fours?
or stumble just upon his knees?

Did he dance when he smelled the salt -
did it speed his quickened pace?
and how long did he stay sprawled,
on that sandy far white space?

Did he hide his eyes from sunlight -
or stare at the horizon set,
like the children from the village site,
at the stars the moon beget?

And how long did he choose to wait,
to build his boat by trees and cord?
And did he sail just by the coast, or straight -
into waters deep and warm?

I care not if you pray on knees,
whether you sit, or are proud –
speak English, or Cantonese,
or read this poem now.

For we are blood, and we are kin,
and inside of you and me,
will always be a part of him,
who first went out to sea.

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The origin of this poem was spawned when I was flying from Istanbul to Tel Aviv this past May. As the landscape of the Mediterranean was passing under me, I began to realize just how beautiful the sea is.

There came a point when Cyprus was in the left of my window, and Turkey was receding to the right, when I realized this small distance was still far – far enough so that Cyprus could not be seen from Anatolia.

I began to think in a dreamlike state of the first person to stand on that shore, and how he couldn’t have seen the beauty I was seeing now.

I rewound time even more and began to think of the first person to ever come to a shore.

Can you imagine seeing a sand dune for the first time? Or hearing the roar of an ocean wave?

Well, let me tell you, it was amazing.

And then I thought, the first thought I would have had was to build a boat to see what was on the other side of that horizon.

I’m sure this was what he thought too.

And then I thought the fear the man must have had. After all, he had no idea he would find land.

With this in mind, I looked at the sea once more. By this time Cyprus, too, had faded from my window and I was left to view the Lebanese and Israeli coastline.

And I realized the truth was, the man didn’t care. The beauty and freedom were worth the risk.

We haven’t changed much.

Hometown Hero

Oh man about to leave your home town,
would you think of staying just for me?
Please go outside and look around,
and tell me what you see:

The yard in which you love to rest,
the park, still there, across the lake,
note the breeze passing by your neck,
and the leaves dancing in the lane.
Look at the sunlight – where it falls,
there, on the trees you used to climb,
and the old school, and that old mall,
still around, collecting dust and time.
Think of your family – good or bad,
and the times you spent by the lake,
wishing for a life you always had,
and which you rush to give away.

I know how the road bids your leave –
how work or boredom prod the way,
But think of home and what it means.
I left so you could stay.

The Lads

The Lads

We are the lads who sail upon the breeze,
And who ride the breath of the cruel sky,
We are the lads who dance upon the sea,
And who smile as we die.

We sail for cargo, and we sail for trade -
to bring our lading to some distant shore -
there to trade for goods men have made,
with those of Something more.

Find us in the East, where few have been,
or on a summer breeze, or winter squall,
For we are the lads who live before the wind -
We love nothing else at all.

Friend’s Farewell

And though stars I know not much,
Nor compass, sextant well decode,
Soon I shall walk without a crutch,
And so – will set out for the road.

And though southern roads I know well,
And western plains seem fair from here,
And while in eastern towns all can dwell,
It is to northern shores, where I will steer.

For they say north of here is where,
Wistful dreams still drift and blow,
So I’ll bow my head, and say a prayer,
And to the north I’ll go.

Graduation

And as I have traveled rather far,
Well, it’s like the old man once said,
“Clouds are the curtains to the stars –
Upon which our dreams make their bed.”

For the clouds have parted their hands,
And I see the white dots on black,
My eyes – now go to these distant lands,
And write that they will never come back.

And I say: three cheers for those fools!
Stare long where your dreams once glanced!
For I have passed through clouds and jewels,
And so now to the stars will dance.

Books

My boy, when I was young,
I, like you, was nimble, free,
Merrily, oh how I sung,
Songs of the land and sea!

As some men love the drink,
Well, books it was for me,
And in their pages I did sink,
Lost the land, sea — the free.

You see, my boy, I read,
Of feats, peril, and the like,
Lived on these hopes instead,
Of hopes of my own kind.

Now in my latter years,
I’ve woken to this fact,
It’s best to face many fears,
Than to never learn to act.

So take me to the road,
My boy, take me to the free,
Nature is the last abode,
For men such as me!

The road is my creed -
The waters – or that shore,
And with every book I read,
I learn to miss adventure more.

So take me from these books,
My boy, take me to the free,
I long but again to look,
On the windy, green sea.

Ah, to taste the salt again,
To feel the sun and the swell,
It’s a little piece of heaven,
In this little piece of hell.