I have no relentless nostalgia
For the Dnieper river and environs
Where my progenitors lived until
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They were kicked out or left
The best decision they made for us,
Their descendants, was to flee the disease
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Of hate that infected the entireÂ
Area my antecedents known
By the place names
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Where they taught
Berdychiv Medzybizh Uman
Koretz Zhytomyr Zhovkva Belz my
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Shtetele Belz became a sh**-hole
For my ancestors they had to leave
They threw Bubbe’s candlesticks, a few prayer books
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Into a worn suitcase and scrammedÂ
Myself and all who came after me
Thank them with every breath we take
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Because they left
We live.
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A hundred plus years later it took that long
For something fresh to rise in that cynical part
Of our planet and another diseased little man
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With plenty of help from other corruptors
Poised to prevent the opening of windows
Onto a suffocating closed box opening on lightÂ
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Ancient darkness they have all the
Problems of a declining civilization
All the attendant dangers of clashing
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Messianisms there is someone to breathe life into aÂ
Damaged culture so when you dreamÂ
Dream up and send them a good
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Vibration to open up a new
Box of gems, something
Free and beautiful
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Give them what we can
We are one worldÂ
And it needs us
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All in our little
And big ways.
