After today's four steps
I'm sitting in socks by the fireplace
My heavy boots are standing straight
and my back is still rattling

I am a henchman
I push the boundaries
of the ladies in love
and the rich gentlemen

I leave horse turd behind
and take the scent of freesias with me
The water in the bucket sloshes
like yearning love

I don't travel alone
We are armed
The papers are precious
Sealed letters

Beginning and maintaining
of relationships and major interests
Between the stops, the reins
of fate are in my hands

Borders in our heads
where it becomes unsafe
and we are on our guard

against those who come in
with a mouth full
of questions and criticism

who keep a low profile
as good neighbours
with democratic rights

to undermine government
whereby they change colour
until they feel strong enough

to blow up differences
and to welcome others'
losses as gains

until there are no more borders
just gaps and stinking fistulas
with internal bleeding

There are no guest rooms
because the land is too full
for a paradise life

The villages arm themselves
against newcomers
there is no need for them

They have to move on, to the hard soil
of the mountains, on the edge
of the North Paradise

or in a bend back
to the south, nowhere
welcome, nowhere is there enough

milk and honey, enough space
even if fields fall vacant
because of drought, smallpox, or plague

The neighbours fight for it
because the land is too full
for a paradise life

It is going well, we are driving fast
away from where the bombs fall
Fatima's hand sways move move

We are many
stronger than the rules
We break through them

to a rich country, not a monastery
although we will live slowly, but
we bring our own rules

We want to work, take time
to learn and get married
to have a future

and to give it
to our parents
who did not believe in it

A wild goat lived in his heart
dreaming of paradise
so he decided to go there
and it was larger than imagined

For weeks, he looked
for the most beautiful place
to live, until one day
he approached the border, a wall

of mountains, and their weight filled
his legs, he could go no further
and stayed where he was
without answer

when his son asked if this
was it, the best, and they
of all people the happiest
here in paradise

Strips along the road:
my dreams rose themselves to pieces
torn by their over-pressure

Fellow-sufferers hang in the water
rippled, on broken legs
skinny from waiting

too tired to go on
and not strong enough
to stand still

I only cry tears
that do not come
to relieve or redeem

The light of the lighthouse
swings brightly
but the eye is blind

Not even tents, some cloths, wet
cardboard and pieces of plastic tied
between mud bushes, children
limp with their mothers, everywhere

young men stomping around
looking in every nook and corner
of their heads how to tear
down the fence, leave

their hopeless misery
in this no man's land
to put love again
in the eyes begging for help

Who cares about them, who
among us breaks the indecision, who
brings water, a bed, a loaf of bread, who
does do something, who goes to them, who

dares to look them in the eye
from person to person?

I feel Grandpa's soul in me

shrinking of desire
for land, not fields
but my own pastures
No longer being expelled
by the farmer's sons

with their dogs, mice
and bugs in the beds
for their sick and their sore backs
from plowing and planting
weeding, harvesting and grinding the grain

I have gone further
than my father, with my herd
on the way to uninhabited pastures
but I did not find them, nowhere
was the land of my dreams

Only the desert is free