Tag Archives: homeland


Horrified, we watch the bombs fall,
The buildings crumble. Another
Round of refugees flees
Across artificial borders,
Seeking some sort of

Observers or participants, we carry
Revulsion as baggage. Perhaps,
We feel an aggrieved resignation.
Fear, loathing–why such destruction
Mischaracterized as conquest,

So many have fled our birthplaces,
Impacted by overt violence,
Or, having survived more subtle
Pressures, hunting for better
Lives elsewhere.

Wherever our homeland,
Whatever our current location,
Our wanderings began at birth–
Expelled or pulled from the womb
Once it became confining and

We’re all part of a human diaspora,
Pilgrims, seekers, strangers, yet
Inescapably kin.

Sooner or later, whether
By war, accident, injury,
Illness, or old age,
Our diasporas
Will coalesce.

Each of us will return to earth.
We’ll be subsumed to oneness,
All of us once more at



—by Jinny Batterson

(I hope all of you enjoyed Father’s Day. This snippet came to me on a nature walk yesterday, reminding me of my dad. Though he’s been physically gone for a long time, every now and then a memory of him comes through, especially when I’m outdoors.  Dad had a bad case of dyslexia, long before there was a label for it.  He struggled all his life with spelling and grammar.  Had he written this piece, the verb agreement might have been better, but the spelling would certainly have been worse. We argued politics for most of our mutual adulthoods. However, I think we might have been able to agree on the sentiments expressed here.)

“I be longing for a homeland,” he said.

“Belongings can impede the journey,” I replied.

“I be longing for a fair land.”

“Belongings can drive us apart.”

“I be longing for a free land.”

“Belongings can imprison, too.”

“I’s old now, wrinkled, sometimes lame.
Before I hobbles off, I tells you a secret—
One deep down you already knows:
We all belongs.”