An Epitaph of a Palestinian soul

Across from her bed
Lies the map of the world
An adventurous American friend
gave it to her
Above the world,
She hung a close up of Adam's creation:
Adam's hand barely touching God's
And slowly drifting away

- fallen-
Fallen from heaven,
From perfection and home
On a cloud,
all alone
To be thrust
- fed-
into humanity below

The continents beneath
continue to drift, too
Her soul also drifts:
the East is further
And further parting from the West
To perhaps never touch again
To become a painting
Or a remembrance of a lost face
Packed simply and unrightfully so
Into a small box
With a big Epitaph written on it

As she finds her way to adulthood
In the United States
She comes out alone,
like Adam, On a cloud
Not wanting the separation
From heavens of the East
Yet realizing it slowly happens

What would Michelangelo's painting be
Without Adam's leaving?
How could the continents be if
There was no separation?
Alas, her soul holds only one answer:
Somehow, she has become Adam,
the continents
Longing to touch the East and its coast
Yet knowing that there is no return now

The oceans of life and forces carry Adam away
Further west, as he continues to yearn
Extending his tired hand.
An angel chisels at the East's tombstone:

Background and Heritage lie in stillness
As one soul has left home, forever.