Those pangs of homesickness!
That long since detected upheaval!
I am altogether indifferent
As to where to be altogether
Alone or how to drag my tote
From bazaar to house and home,
A home that is mine no more
Than a hospital or garrison;
Indifferent to what sort of people
Will see me, the caged lion, bristle
And from what sort of world I will -
As I must - be banished into
Myself and my own feelings.
Like a Kamchatka bear with no ice floe,
I don't care where not to fit in
(I don't try to) and where to eat crow
Nor am I charmed by my mother
Tongue's call, cajoling and creamy:
I set no great store by the tongue that others
use to misconstrue me
(Readers solely intent upon
Milking the press of its bletherings),
For they're of this twentieth century,
And I precede the centuries.
I am stunned like a log left to lie
On a path with trees. Everyone's the same
To me, it's all the same to me,
And what is all the more the same
And closest of all, perhaps, is the past.
All my features, all traces, all dates
Have vanished into its morass:
I am merely a soul born-somewhere.
My country has so let me down
That should a sharp-eyed sleuth
Search that soul inside out
It would fail to sleuth forth native roots.
Every house is alien, every temple empty,
All the same, all one, all mere trash.
But if by the road there's a tree
That chances to be mountain ash......