No Exile Is Forever

Forever I must leave the isle of my birth;
Forever, they tell me, I must depart.
What they do not know is that nowhere on earth
Is far enough to snuff out the love in my heart.

What they do not know is that the shade of each tree
Long ago was stamped on my heart and mind.
What they do not know is that the sound of the sea
Will forever fill my ears, and the sound of the wind

Is a music that I would know if they brought me blind
To the shores of my isle, my home, my heartplace.
What they do not know is that my heart could find
My way home if they left me on another earth's face.

What they do not know is that no exile is forever,
And no memory is as long as that of he who is made
To leave his birthland, he who unwilling must sever
The ties that bind him to the hills and the forests of jade.

No exile is forever, and mine will not be half that long.
They will remember what they think of as my crime,
But not in the way that I will remember the birdsong,
Not in the way that I will hold it frozen in time,

This isle as green as sun turned to emerald by leaves,
The small house that shelters down under the high hill,
This stream that in winter sings past ice its reprieves,
The home that I have here, in isle and crest, in house and rill.

What they do not know is that no exile is forever.
And when they have forgotten the taste of my guilt,
When they wonder why it seems to have been forever,
When their firm mountains of resolve are ground down to silt,

I will not have forgotten the scent of the flowers,
And not a single moment of time will have taken wing
In the place preserved perfect by my memory's powers,
The isle held frozen in my mind to a motionless spring.

What they do not know is that no exile can endure
That is longer than the exile's power to look and to long.
What they do not know is that no exile is forever,
And guilt and blame are less powerful than springtime's first birdsong.