Syria, Iraq, My home

by John Collins / June 24th, 2018

I left my country to travel
to the end of the world.
Surely, it was the end of the world
for me, because
my world no longer existed.
I was leaving a world that
was no longer,
to seek a world that is.
My world now lays in crumbles.
and is no longer waiting.
I am asked why I came here?
Where do you suggest?
Why don’t you go back?
And I ask, “Why don’t you go
to the place where I left,
and see if you can survive?”
See if you would not sorrow
for what my world has become.
I lost my world,
and there is not enough left
to find.
How do you return to what
isn’t?

John Collins ia a retired pharmacist from the coastal Virginia area, now living in Central Virginia. His work has appeared in the Dissident Voice, Merak, Fourth and Sycamore, Aurorus and Blossoms, Pangolin Review and Galway Reiew. Read other articles by John.

This article was posted on Sunday, June 24th, 2018 at 8:02am and is filed under Poetry.