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I stretched my mind to clutch at stars of change

Here where now silence reigns

He was once the jubilee hall of sounds

And every laughter was an echo of some inner joy

every scream a record of a fear

Once there were many voices in our house. (25)

The attempt to escape to a distant land, successful as it appears, often suffers compromise
when the fact of the space-between stares the exile in the face regarding the conditions at
home. The afflictions that befall those at home have a way of rubbing off on those who
have escaped the immediacy of the scourge. All these come together to rob exiles of the
joy of “springing forth” luxuriantly in their countries of destination. In “The News from
Home” the poet externalizes his frustration:

I have not come this far

only to sit by the roadside

and break into tears

I could have wept at home

without a journey of several thorns

I have not spread my wings so wide

only to be huddled into corners

at the mere mention of storms

To those who hear of military coups

and rumours of civil strife

and bushfires and bad harvest at home

and come to me looking for fears and tears