Belgium

I cannot restrain my sense of sorrow
When I come, when I get into Belgium
Back to Belgium, shortly,
When I see the land, the flat land,
And the language,
That is lost, that is retained, somewhere,
deep, in me.
A precious and confounded treasure within me
For those my first years
When things were simple, joyful, and honest
And, by god! I have lost it!
However the country IS STILL
I am again, and back,
As I enter Belgium and recognize it
as a part at the same time undisturbed and unreachable within me,
I cry
I cry for all I've lost,
I cry for what could have been
I cry for what has been, and is no more
My twisted life, I cry for my sorrows
For I am damaged
But I am still, and am free...
The phrase that remains, as such other words, 
untranslated, and as an unfulfilled dream 
that I only touch in now my holidays,
the phrase that I retained in my soul
Ik wil zo graag terug naar Belgie gaan
And I have lost again
For I now belong to so much, to so many
By surviving the worst
I became, and lost myself, in many
This is so natural
And so strange
That I see Belgium and I see my soul laid in front of me
And I weep
And I silence it
For I cannot go back
In time
And must accept, always,
As I have
The ever changing world
            With Grace
            As I reinvent (and loose) myself
            Constantly.
Lucy, 3 January 2014