You spit on your people,
your people applaud,
your former oppressors
laurel you.
The thorns biting your forehead
are contempt
disguised as concern,
still, you can come home, now.
To exiled novelists
'At Last' (1976)
You spit on your people,
your people applaud,
your former oppressors
laurel you.
The thorns biting your forehead
are contempt
disguised as concern,
still, you can come home, now.
'At Last' (1976)