We are all Refugees, seeking our true home
The moon has opened you up,
you curl like a gull inside her.
A siren sea has begun to wail,
her salt tears staining the land.
‘It is a question of patience
dying among the sighs of grass
under a lantern night of dull stars
by this river of eternal return.’
Voices of hate, the bark of dogs,
manacled to iron gates of wealth,
fed on lies, rotting scraps of meat
by manicured, unscrupulous hands.
In the empty city
between dub and dream
In the empty city
between word and tell
In the empty city
between waking and scream
In the empty city
between life and renewal.
She sits patiently among war’s rubble
a refugee of all that we must endure,
under the last tree on England’s shore,
her root of aching, ageless struggle.
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