It is as if the heart stops
and is kick-started mechanically;
life as you comprehended it
is freeze-framed in a single day;
nor do you reinvent yourself -
identity’s a luxury:
you survive on instinct and
adrenalin… adrenalin -
you can’t get tired,
you can’t get tired,
you can’t get tired,
you must move on…
Who bothers to keep records of how many
suffocate, or drown, or fall prey
to a living death as brothel slaves?
A refugee pays for a one-way
passage to uncertainty, and spends
each night in limbo where all bridges
burn, and borders run between
the edge of nowhere and the fierce sun.
Refugee
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103032100257
Свидетельство о публикации №103032100257
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