Fatherland

Whether it’s something or someone
I’m waiting for you ask
with a lip that trembles
for reasons I don’t know.

We’re sitting on a hill
overlooking a city
where no one dares
to believe anymore.

You tell me stories
about a homeland
that no longer exists 
in your mother’s language.

Around us, the night falls
silently into place. 

(c) Leen Raats

This poem was published by Livina Press, in their Homeland-magazine.