Day after day like forgotten sourdough
longing keeps rising
and creates a loaf
rejecting the dream
that here in a new place,
another country,
other dreams will grow
to conceal
the dampness of my hometown.
The dream was broken, the loaf dried,
wars were followed by wars
and only memory remains
like an elephant who returns
to his ancestor’s graves
and cries out a little near them
and follows his own road,
falling not falling,
still, a different elephant.