Hope

As tribal elders sit,
Their tribal thoughts tie their tongue.
We, the foreigners,
In this our land,
Know not
Where lies our future track.
No place forward,
None back.

Hearing their city tribes
Talk the foreign tongue,
They shuffle their tribal feet,
And wait,
And judge,
And soon, within their age-old eyes,
A light appears:
Yes, it was there,
Though but a pinhead size.

Frustrated still
They walk away,
With knowing smile
And gentle voice.
Now …
We hope …
For you have taught us
… hope … there is.