PROJECT

It is some time since we've been here together, my friend,
Standing on this rocky hill under the blazing sky,
Squinting at the silver valley below our feet.
I remember the enchantment of that first sight,
The excitement and the romance,
Far from the clatter of the city,
The confusion of the airport lounge,
The pristine dullness of the lonely hotel room
Perched over the honking, bustling, baking street.
Here on this hill there were only the sounds
Of goat bells and the wild wind,
And my own throbbing excitement.
This is what I came to find!
And I remember too
That strange look in your eyes,
Accusing me and avoiding me,
And those mysterious words
You uttered low below the wind:
"You have come here for another purpose, my friend,
You may find what you lose, and lose what you find."
Still, although your presence and those words
Passed like the dark, rain-laden cloud across my excitement,
It was only an instant
And soon we were hurrying down the ragged path,
Swept by the hot wind,
Billowing yellow dust.
And as we descended,
The oasis of enchantment melted like the dream
In the heat of the valley,
And I knew the meaning of
The accusation and the shame
I had seen in your eyes.

We encountered the silver valley with its fly-blown goats,
The rust, the scars, the swollen bellies,
The parched emptiness teeming with agony and numbness.
I remember the black imploring hand
Held against the sun,
And your sad words:
"This is my land. Come do your purpose."

Then all those days, and weeks, and months,
The hectic, maddening, sun-drenched months,
The strange faces, the questioning faces,
The uncertain, awkward questions,
The endless meetings in mosquitoed rooms,
The dust and the mud,
The stench of oil and tar,
The alien invasion of pipes and girders
In this flowerless desert,
The hum of motors,
Drowning the goat bells and cicadas,
And enough paper to line the whole damn valley!

That was a long time ago
And here we are again, my friend, on this hill
Looking over silver valley.
The wind still blows dust into our faces.
And this time it is I who avoid your eyes.
I have no words to ask the question
That is burning inside me.
Together we descend to the valley,
But your face tells me everything --
The accusation and the shame.

by Lee Roberts

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