Sixty years

Sixty years
I've been a nomad amongst settled peoples
watching their seasons, their lives go by,
waiting for my own to restart.

Sixty years
I've been a stranger
My customs, my loved ones scattered like marbles
across the globe.

Sixty years
of watching children grow and wrinkles form
of seeing how quietly they listen
when I tell them about home.

Sixty years
and I still smell the orange blossom and remember the rough touch of olive trees just as scarred as we.

Sixty years
with other people living the life I was supposed to lead
In the house to which I still carry the key.

Sixty years I've been waiting,
I can't wait sixty more.
It's time for me to return.