Mother

1.

Where are we going Mother?

We are going to our country

to our land.

Where is our country Mother?

I can not say its name

it is forbidden.

Is our country far away?

On the other side of the sea, son.

Is the trip long?

Two thousand years long

three  weeks on the road

five hours on the plane.

And the children in that country, who are they?

All Jews, like you.

And How am I? 

2.

Have we arrived yet, Mother?

Years ago, son.

Because mother, I do not see that we have arrived

these are not Jews like me.

This are your people, this is your country.

But, mother, I do not see the trees of my childhood

and the people’s words seem very strange. 

'Esto es lo que hay'. (This is all there is to be.)

But you promised me we were going to our country

and this is not my country this are not my people

these are not my Jews.

You can leave.

Where to, mother?

to my hometown 

neither my double nor  my shade lives anymore  

my children were born here

and even they

look like strangers to me

my woman is from another country

she doesn’t know our traditions

my languages are different from the human languages

I do not have where to return to

I have no country

I have no people

and this journey doesn’t end

there is no way to finish it,

I am forever stuck in that four in the morning

The last smell of coffee with milk in the coffee-pot

leaving toward Ceuta and seeing Algeciras from the sea

Remaining forever in that nocturnal trip 

that never sees the light of day and no matter how I try

I am a foreigner here in this homeland

that you longed for so long

now that you say to me mother

that I can go to Spain

with my enlarged tribe

that I should head toward another exile

another place will become exile

like Israel, Jerusalem, Tetuan, Lucena

all our homelands become exiles.