jordanabina
Home.
Have I ever been there before?
Will it be familiar?
Or will it seem new?
Like clothes on the bedroom floor,
or fresh morning dew.
Will she recognize me,
and assure my restless mind?
Or will we meet at last,
again for the very first time?
Can home be home if I’ve never seen it?
Can she give me rest even while I’m away?
Let home draw me, call me, sing to me,
May we find, follow, and obey.
Where is home?
Is it where I’ve always been,
that same rehearsed song?
Or is she born from somewhere deeper,
the place where I belong?
Like a cedar in the midst of oak,
a river in the desert.
Where are my kin?
When can I see leaves like mine?
Oh Father how will I know?
Oh Mother will you tell me?
Is the place I come from the place I belong?
Or am I born in captivity, ignorant to life beyond?
Send breath to my sails if I must go,
Let the east wind take me quick.
Don’t let me be trapped inside a mind, that’s stubborn and thick.
Am I a foreigner?
Does my blood speak of different terrain.
Show me how to find it,
the land from which I came.
Dress me in the garments of my Father,
Put seeds of hope in my hand,
Lift the veil of fog upon me,
send me to soil I understand.
If she’s out there,
than she must feel it too.
Keep crying for me sweet Zion,
I’m looking for you.
