Too Cold to Snow, Too Painful To Cry

 

 

     There is a kitchen here, filled

with stories, talent, music, love.

     The occupants share a common theme,

a common understanding but the bandage

is never once assumed as, one needs not

convey importance of scars, wounds,

     brokenness that cannot heal,

          ‘will never heal if the bearers have their…………’

 

     The stories resound the woe of poverty and hurt,

the talent is never afforded any theatre or statement,

the music; a cry of cherubs tortured and denied

     a natural right, a natural, parent.

          And the love; be bristling everywhere

the players look - but never grabbed in haste for

the silent fear of dying.

 

     ‘(we are strong, we are strong, we are;- strong)!’

 

                          We are not allowed our peoples

                     We are not allowed our home,

                We are not allowed our regal,

           We are not allowed our nation,

     We are not allowed ‘our’ feelings,

We are not allowed ‘our’ children.

     We are not allowed our living but we are allowed……………

 

 

 

Michael J Waite 11th August 2020. For my family and I, for all our family and I.

Xxx