Chiswick Tales

The Long Way Home

As I sit facing the sun,
Reading the words of a long lost lover
England passes me by,
The river, the dogs and the joggers

Reminding me that had I
Defected
This would’ve been my stretch to walk
On sunny November mornings,
And over there,
With its boathouses
Would’ve been my workplace

This is the house
Where the first telegram was sent
And this, where, a certain calligrapher lived
But the book in my hand tells me
It doesn’t matter if these stories are true
What matters is that they shape the future to come

The future,
Elided by so many unheld promises
So many unheld hands
So many cross-named lands
Constantinople, for instance, or Jerusalem
Where Furnival fought and fell
Where Eyüp fought and fell

Sitting cross-legged in this drift-wood house
I count all the sign-posts
All the check-points
that do not add up to my defection
walking towards Furnival
walking towards Eyüp,
taking the long way home.