Wednesday, 11 November 2015


The four walls of my house
Three new lives today
Packed in four suitcases, five bags
And six cartons
Four more yet to arrive
Lost in transit
Like official affidavits in
My uncle's name, we tremble
When we cross his path
Three humans, flesh and bone
Three new lives minus one
From a desert of death, ignored
Where their language is as sweet
As summer dates and grapes from Turkey
They are known to sell
And yet they sharpen their blade
On their tongue
A land where women have turned
To shadows turned to dust
And the dust goes with the wind
Blowing nowhere and gathers in this
Desert with no shelter and home
Three new lives
Waiting to become one

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