The Distant Shore

When I was a boy
I used to think of a distant shore
I always thought
I must have seen in a dream.
But as I grew I had my doubts,
For though it looked like a dream
somehow I felt it isn't so;
that maybe I was sleepy or confused
and it won't be long before I know
my distant shore is a false dream,
or true.

And it was strange for if I stop at the beach
on my way home from school,
and gaze with heavy eyes,
hungry with a tired brain,
my distant shore is nowhere in sight.
But if I'm happy and relaxed
I find it there the moment I point my eyes,
anxious, like me, to be seen so it may see.
Even at nights
I come running with a dancing heart
and I only have to scan the dark for a brief moment
to see it's shimmering light.

But I wasn't always sure,
and something happens,
like when my mum was ill
or when my dad lost his job,
and my distant shore is no longer there for weeks.
At other times I suddenly see it there.
It briefly raises itself with a gentle leap,
and like a child waiting for a late good night kiss,
raises his head to meet his mum's lips,
smiles, and gently nods
and falls suddenly asleep.

2.

As time passed my doubts began to recede
and my shore revealed itself as never before.
And every time above my head the branches swayed
I knew my distant shore has sent me a breeze
laden with love and moistened with gentle hope.
And there on the youngest leaf if forms itself
into a tiny parchment that sends itself down to my open hand,
like a letter peppered with stains of tears
sent by a longing lover
with a few weeping words:
My love don't give up, please,
If I can wait one thousand years
I will
and when finally you are back
you'll find me there waiting
with laughing tears.
And as you take off your shoes and hang your jacket on the chair
I know you'll turn around and say:
My love, I've come back;
don't let me leave again;
not even for a single day.

And sometimes I could smell
a mixture of marjoram and thyme
and hear the faint voices of little children there.
And I used to sit on rough sand
thinking of ways to get me there most of the day.
And every now and then I'd wave to a sailing boat
but none would stop for a little boy
who wants to go to a distant shore
out of their way.

The wait was long
but I wouldn't despair
I wouldn't dare,
my hope was there
so I used to return the next day
and do the same
and the next day
and the next day
and I always felt
I'll find my way
and I'll reach my shore one day.

3.

It was early in spring
when I went for a walk
and turned to the shore uncalled
and there I saw a boy
like me.
I thought he waved
then sat down
to play on the sand with little shells
just like mine.
He wasn't alone
for under a palm tree,
just like the one above my head,
I could see a little girl.
And I suddenly thought wouldn't be great
if I could ask her what does she think of boys,
and would she, one day,
accept me as friend?
From my native shore I wouldn't hear
but somehow I felt
she'd nod.
So I wasn't surprised when late that spring she did.
And now that girl, Elissah, just like the boy, and I are friends.

And it was strange when she took me to see her mum.
I was prepared to defend my darker skin,
and I was prepared to defend my different creed,
and I was ready with words and passion
to explain
why does my mum wear a veil
and why does my dad go to a mosque to pray,
and why do my brothers do the same,
and why do we like bread, oil and thyme
and why am I too shy,
and why do I have a Muslim name.
And it was strange when her mum glanced through all that I looked,
and peered straight inside.
Satisfied,
she kissed my cheeks and smiled,
like me,
"You look like a decent boy," she said,
"so go outside and play,
and when I'm ready I'll call you for your tea".

4.

Afterwards they took me to see the town,
and I was shocked, and I almost cried in shame.
The streets were clean, tidy and no politicians anywhere,
and in every way and everything
it was exactly the opposite of mine.
We roamed freely in old alleys and courts
and Elissah was never called by a worried mum.
For here there is no fear of little girls being snatched away
from under the nose of their mums or dads
savaged and raped
then dumped like dead rats,
in ditches full of dirt.

5.

We walked along the beach, my friends and I,
each waiting for the other to say goodbye
without feeling sad.
It was a word but for me, at least,
I've never experienced anything as hard.
Sammy and I shook hands like men,
but Elisa was hesitant.
She wasn't a man so she had a choice
but she didn't know what sort of goodbye is best:
A handshake with baited fingers eager for an eager trap?
A little wave?
Or maybe a sunset kiss spirited to a darker cheek in surprise,
and before his lips are readied with a budding amorous light,
and before his eyes open to a sudden sunrise
the bloom is gone, and the chance already is missed.
None seemed sufficiently expressive of how she felt
so she stood on her little toes,
still shorter than me but higher than the highest sky,
and with a bright smile that re-lit with hope a darkening day,
she said, "Show me my desert friend, show me your native shore.
I want to see you more,
and invite or not, I'll wait a moon and then
you'll find me at your door."
And I looked, blinked in disbelief, gazed again and peered-
There was nothing.
My native shore had disappeared.
6.

I never exactly knew what had happened.
It's not something that I can explain with words.
Sometimes I think it was a distant shore
I dreamt about with eyes closed
and longed for,
and wanted it very much to be
and something happened
and my dream evolved into a vision
and there was this shore
that at last I could see
and touch with my feet.
But where I stood
there was a native shore
I didn't want
so I didn't see.

7.

I still dream but not like before.
If you observe this young man standing ashore
with wide-open eyes,
locked on an unseen point somewhere ahead
you'd think there's nothing that can escape his intent gaze
but he's looking inside
and he's dreaming.
My new dream is my old dream of that distant shore
but there's more
my distant shore by right is my shore
and my native shore is aging and corrupt.
It doesn't value the decency of man
and it hates little smiles on little faces
so it's not the shore we want
because animals we're not,
and as such we deserve much better than that.
One of us will have to change and it isn't me.
It's a mausoleum of past glories and defeats;
high and solid
but with a long shadow that far exceeds its size
and intentionally is made
by ignorant elders
to obscure all the roads ahead.
It's a timeline that victoriously rumbled along old continents and shores,
then came suddenly to a halt,
looked around with weakening memory and still weaker eyes
at the unfamiliar new continents and shores,
but roads were no more.
It was great, but loyalty and decency dictate
that with honour, it's time to lay a glorious corpse to rest
and seek a different way.
And deep inside I'm convinced
as long as my boat is my vision
and my sail is my passion,
I will get there, we all will,
and this time I don't have to go anywhere
for the distant shore I want to reach
is right here.
And I don't need armies and invaders
to teach me how
for what's brought on a tank
on a tank will be sent back,
or worse.
And if Elissah decides one day,
I too will take her to see my mum
and when she takes off her veil
Elissah wouldn't see evil and a darkened soul,
but a gentle mum, just like her own,
that reaches out and touches her hand
with a gentle heart.
And later, when we go to town
I'll show her around
and feel nothing but pride
exactly like she felt in her distant shore.
And if we should fall along the road
or get tired
and someone says:
For all that work, sweat, and sometimes blood,
you've have nothing to show but a little smile on a little face,
someone, like Elissah, should chide him and say he's wrong
for what we paid is not a big price,
and for that glorious smile we'll be happy to pay the same price,
Twice.