lover of longing's songs
and whispered promises

born exile,
homeless at last

tormenting idea
become beckoning reality

these are the wandering years

When anguish builds
story upon story at heart

from counting the stars
to music played from afar

amidst it all
the loner finds magic

these are the wandering years

And all the colors once fixed
now profusely bleed

just as constellations seem to disperse
the pattern no longer discernible

here, within reach, the Future looms
high as imagination, deep as fear

yes, these are the wondering years

Once the cocoons flee for air
before steam loosens their threads

eyes glance, the sun smiles
and upon a shifting silk cloud

hope awaits even as the final delight,
flight after all is flight

these are the wandering years

And wings sticky-new unfurl
unsteady from long disuse

having parted ways with shelter
onwards, upwards, the only way left

now, beat in place, tremulous
and take to glorious flight

these are the wandering years

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See Yahia Lababidi's Signposts to Elsewhere